BRENDA'S POV
“God, Arman—” I gasped, half in shock, half in ecstasy.
“That’s it,” he rasped, thrusting deeper, filling me until I was stretched wide around him. “Take me. Every inch. You were made for this.”
The first few strokes were slow, deliberate, forcing my body to adjust. He held my hips still, grinding deep inside me until I moaned, my walls clenching helplessly around him. Then his pace shifted—hard, fast, merciless.
The glass behind me shook with each thrust, my breasts bouncing in his hands as he squeezed, pinched, twisted. My moans turned into shameless cries, my legs trembling, struggling to hold myself up as he drove into me.
“Say it,” he demanded, lips brushing my ear as his c**k pounded into me. “Say you’re mine.”
My pride wavered, shattered by the rhythm of his body
