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I catch her wrist an inch from my face. I spin her around and slam her front first into the glass.

She gasps. Her palms slap flat on the window. Her cheek’s an inch away from it. Down below her, the whole club. Hundreds of people. Lights. Music. Faces.

“Sasha.” Her voice shakes. “Sasha, they can see us.”

“Good.”

“Everybody can see us!”

“I want them to.”

I shove her dress up over her ass.

“No… Sasha… Don’t you dare… Don’t you fucking dare…”

I hook a finger in that little red thong and rip it off her. It snaps like nothing. I throw it on the floor.

And I look at her.

Bent against the glass with her dress shoved up around her waist and that ass out. That big, round, soft ass, brown and perfect, my handprint already blooming on one cheek from the stairs. Her thick thighs pressed together, shaking. The backs of her knees. Her heels, digging into the carpet. Her braids falling all down her back.

I’ve had this woman every way there is for a week, and looking at her bent over in front of me still makes my knees go weak.

I’m never gonna get enough of her. I’m gonna be eighty years old with a bad heart and a cane, and I’m still gonna bend her over every surface in my house.

I shove my hand between her thighs.

She’s soaked. Dripping. Down to her knees. Hot and swollen and slick, and the second my fingers touch her, she clenches and lets out this broken little sob.

She wore that dress, and climbed in that trunk, and let that boy grab her, and the whole time, her pussy was dripping, waiting on me.

“You did this to make me crazy,” I tell her.

“I did this to dance!”

“It worked.” I shove two fingers into her and she cries out and her forehead hits the glass. She’s so tight around my fingers. So hot. Squeezing. “I’m fucking crazy, Dylan.”

“I hate you…”

I wrap my hand around her throat from behind. Not squeezing. Holding. I feel her pulse going wild under my palm. I tip her chin down so she’s looking out at the club, at every one of these motherfuckers looking back up at us.

I pull my fingers out of her. I unzip. I take my cock out, and it’s so hard it aches, the head dark and wet and throbbing. I drag it through her from behind, slow, through all that wet. She’s so slick I slide through her like silk. Her pussy’s hot against my shaft. Her swollen lips part around me. She shudders so hard her heels skid on the floor.

I line up. The head of my cock pressing right into her. That tight, wet heat kissing the tip.

Then I push in.

Fuck. Fuck. She’s tight. A week of fucking her and she’s still tight as that first night. Swollen and tender and clamping down on me so hard I have to grit my teeth and stop. She’s hot as fire inside. Soft. Wet. Squeezing me like she’s trying to push me out and pull me in at the same time. I sink into her slow, an inch at a time, and I feel every bit of her give. Her walls stretching around me. Gripping me. Dragging me deeper. My balls are so tight they hurt.

She’s making this sound. High and helpless. Her nails are screeching down the glass. Her soft ass squishes back against my hips as I sink deeper, and I feel every inch of that ass on my stomach. Her thighs are trembling against mine. She goes up on her toes trying to get away from how deep I’m going, and there’s nowhere to go.

I bottom out. All the way inside her. I can feel her heart pounding through her back into my chest, and through her pussy around my cock.

I hold her there. Pinned to the glass. Stuffed full of me. My hand on her throat. Her ass in my hips.

Down below, somebody points.

“They’re watching,” she whimpers.