Dev’s weight is a crushing, suffocating blanket, pinning me into the leather of the couch. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of our mingling sweat and the lingering musk of my own arousal. I can barely expand my chest to breathe, his chest muscles hard against my soft, yielding flesh, trapping me. His mouth is hot, wet, and demanding on my left breast, sucking the nipple deep into the cavern of his mouth, his tongue flicking the sensitive peak with a rough, abrasive rhythm that sends electric jolts shooting down my spine.

I gasp, my back arching involuntarily, pushing my tit further into his face, a desperate, silent plea for more friction, more pain, more pleasure. His hand, meanwhile, is busy between my thighs, his fingers ruthless as they explore the soaked, swollen folds of my cunt. He’s not gentle. He doesn’t coddle. He spreads my legs wider with his knee, forcing them apart, making me feel exposed, raw, and utterly owned.