Naomi’s POV
Marcus f***s the way he does everything — hard, efficient, zero wasted movement. Every thrust jolts me forward on the table and drives a sound out of me that I have to muffle in my own forearm.
He’s thicker than Vincent, and I can feel the stretch of him forcing my swollen walls apart, pushing through the wetness with a friction that’s making my eyes roll.
He grips the back of my neck and pins my face to the felt. “Your daddy raised a perfect little fucktoy,” he grunts, slamming deep enough that I feel it in my stomach. “Bet he doesn’t know his princess takes c**k like a pro.”
“f**k you,” I gasp, because the degradation is making my p***y clench so hard around him I can barely see straight.
“You are,” he says flatly. “And loving every second.”
His hand cracks across my a
