Worship You Ruined

You’re standing at the edge of the villa balcony, moonlight painting your bare skin silver, thighs already slick before I even touch you.

You shouldn’t be this wet from a message.

But you are.

And I know it — because you left the glass doors open.

You wanted me to find you like this.

Naked. Dripping. Ready to be ruined.

I step inside without a word. No hello. No soft kisses. You turn — your eyes wild, your chest rising fast — and before you can speak, my hand is already around your throat, pushing you back against the wall. Not to hurt. Just to claim.

Your breath hitches.

Your nipples brush my chest, tight and begging.

You’re already trembling.

“Did you touch yourself without permission?” I ask low against your ear, dragging my hand down your body until I feel it — soaked. Hot. Slippery. I slide two fingers between your thighs and groan.

You’re dripping.

I press them deeper, slow and rough. You moan — loud. Raw. You grab at my arms, desperate to stay standing as I curl my fingers just right, fucking you with nothing but knuckles and a dangerous grin.

“You needed it this bad, didn’t you?”

You nod, your voice already cracking. “Yes… fuck—yes…”

“Then take it.”

I drop to my knees, grab your ass, and bury my face between your legs like you’re my last meal. I devour you. Tongue deep, lips greedy, fingers spreading you open until you’re choking on your own moans. You taste like heat and sin. You grind on my mouth, and I let you. I want the mess. I want to drown in it.

You’re not sweet now.

You’re filthy.

Wild.

Whimpering.

I suck your clit hard and fast — and you break.

Your thighs clamp around my head as you squirt, gasping, hips jerking, pussy clenching. Your whole body shakes against the villa wall, liquid running down your legs, soaking my mouth, and I don’t stop. Not for a second. I lick through it, dragging out the orgasm until you’re begging.

But I don’t let you come down.

Not yet.

I stand. Grab you. Lift you.

You’re on the edge of the balcony now, bent over the rail. The sea is beneath you. The stars above. Your pussy’s still twitching, dripping down your thighs — and I press my cock against you from behind.

One long, thick push — and I’m all the way in.

You scream.

I grip your hips like I own them, pounding into you with ruthless rhythm, the sound of skin against skin echoing into the ocean night. You’re moaning like an animal, tits bouncing with every brutal thrust, your cheek pressed against the railing, mouth open, drooling, blissed out.

“You’re mine,” I growl into your neck. “This pussy. This body. This fuckin’ need — all mine.”

You try to nod, try to speak — but you can’t. All you can do is take it. And I give it to you. Harder. Deeper. My hand between your thighs again, rubbing your clit with brutal speed.

You’re not coming —

You’re breaking.

You explode again — squirting, screaming, trembling so hard your legs nearly collapse. I hold you up, still buried inside, still grinding, chasing my own release through the chaos of yours.

And when I come — it’s not quiet.

It’s a growl into your skin. A bite on your shoulder. A thick, hot flood deep inside you, timed with the final spasms of your orgasm, until we’re both shaking.

When I pull out, you’re leaking down your thighs, lips red from moaning, your whole body humming with aftershock.

I scoop you up.

Carry you inside.

And fuck you again in front of the mirror — just so you can watch what you look like when you’re owned.