“Look at me.”
I force my eyes up. His are dark, almost black in the low light.
“This house belongs to me now. Your mother belongs to me. And starting tonight, so do you. You will not touch yourself without permission. You will not come without permission. When I walk into a room, you will present. When I tell you to open your mouth or your legs, you will do it immediately and without questions. Do you understand?”
My answer is a broken little “Yes, sir” that turns into a moan when he pushes the first thick inch inside me.
He does not go slow after that.
He sinks all the way in one long, relentless thrust that forces the air out of my lungs. I am so wet the stretch burns in the best way. He holds himself there, buried to the root, and rolls his hips in a deep, grinding circle that drag
