He releases my hand and grabs me by the face, his thumb dragging over my lips. His eyes are half reverence, half regret. But we aren’t going back to that place. I prove it when I stop playing with myself and thread my fingers through the belt loops of his trousers, tugging him forward.

He doesn’t fight me as I pull him to the chair and shove him down into it roughly, only to climb atop him and straddle him. His eyes are liquid fire when I reach between us, and this time, there are no protests from his lips when I drag his cock free from his trousers.

My stomach clenches as I stroke him in my palm, our eyes locked, our breaths mingling. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t dare ask. Instead, I lean my body into his, capturing his lips with mine as I feed his cock into me slowly. So slowly, it’s impossible to miss the catch in his breath when I drag my fingers through his hair and tilt his head back, biting my way down his jaw and neck.

Judge groans, and I do it again because I want to play that sound on repeat. His palms come to rest on my ass, squeezing me as I start to rock against him. When I leave a bite mark on his neck, branding him in the only way I can, he snaps his gaze back to mine. His nostrils flare, and he yanks me down against him hard, forcing me to bear the full brutality of his cock. And I know he’s let me have my fun when his palm slaps my ass, reverberating with a sharp crack.

“This isn’t a game, little monster.” He wraps a handful of hair into his fist, keeping my gaze pinned to his as he fucks me from below.

“No?” I whisper. “Then what is it?”

In answer, he fucks me harder. Faster. Smacking my ass and grunting out the frustrations he refuses to give voice to. He has no fucking reason to be pissed off, yet that’s exactly what he is.

“If this is what you call punishment, maybe I should misbehave more often,” I muse.

“Punishment?” he growls. “How’s this for punishment?”

He stands up and unceremoniously dumps me onto the floor, fisting his cock inches from my face as he glares down at me. What he’s doing would be hot in any other circumstance, but there’s no pleasure in it. He’s choking the life out of his cock, his anger driving home his point that he will deny me what I want. I know it when he grabs me by the hair and holds me there, forcing an orgasm as his come spurts over my breasts before dripping down onto my thighs.