The drive home was quiet, but the tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife. Johan's hand stayed firmly on my thigh the entire time, his grip tight, almost possessive. Every few minutes he would squeeze, as if reminding me who I belonged to. I kept my eyes on the road, my p***y still throbbing and leaking his c*m into my panties.
As soon as we stepped inside the house and the front door clicked shut, Johan turned to me. His eyes were dark, burning with a mixture of jealousy, lust, and something deeper.
"Miranda," he said, voice low but steady, "go upstairs to your room. Take off everything except the jersey. Then wait for me on the bed."
His tone left no room for argument. I nodded quickly, heart racing, and hurried upstairs.
Ten minutes later, I was kneeling on
