Tristan rose slowly from the couch, his grey eyes darkening with a mix of disdain and something hotter, more primal.
He let his gaze rake over her shamelessly lingering on the soft swell of her bare breasts, the gentle curve of her hips, the way her nipples had already tightened into needy peaks under his stare.
Tears still clung to her flushed cheeks, glistening like fragile crystals, but he didn’t soften.
Instead, he folded his arms across his broad chest, the crisp white dress shirt stretching over his muscles.
“I don’t force girls,” he said, his voice cold and clipped.
“If you want my help that badly, you’ll have to initiate it yourself. Come and fuck me if you’re so desperate.”
Ophelia’s cheeks burned with fresh humiliation, a fiery blush spreading down her neck and across her chest.
Her heart hammered wildly, shame twisting in her belly alongside a desperate, aching need.
She didn’t have a choice anymore.
Not really.
She stepped closer, the cool air of the room brushing against her naked skin, raising goosebumps.
Pressing her body against his clothed chest, she felt the hard planes of muscle beneath the fabric, the steady thump of his heart.
Her hands trembled as they slid up his shirt, fingers tracing the ridges of his abdomen.
“I accept,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with emotion.
Tristan’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there.
His expression remained aloof, almost bored, but his eyes burned.
“Then do it. Because right now, looking at you, I am not even hard. So you will have to work for it.” He lied coldly.
The degrading words stung like a slap, but they only fueled the fire low in her core.
Ophelia rose onto her toes, her bare breasts brushing against his shirt as she captured his mouth in a kiss.
It started soft tentative, almost pleading her lips molding to his.
But hunger quickly took over.
She deepened it, her tongue slipping past his lips to taste him, a low whimper escaping her as she explored the heat of his mouth.
Her hands worked frantically on the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one until the fabric parted, revealing the sculpted expanse of his chest, dusted lightly with dark hair, his skin warm and taut.
She trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point there, savoring the salt of his skin.
Tristan remained mostly still, his arms still crossed at first, but she felt his breathing hitch, growing deeper, rougher.
Emboldened, her hands moved lower, tugging his belt free with a metallic clink.
She unzipped his trousers, her fingers brushing the growing bulge beneath.
When she freed his cock, it was already half-hard, thick and heavy in her palm despite his cruel indifference.
She wrapped her hand around the velvety length, stroking slowly from base to tip, feeling him swell and harden fully under her touch, veins pulsing against her fingers.
Tristan exhaled sharply, but his voice stayed mocking.
“Is this the best you can do? Pathetic.”
She dropped to her knees on the plush carpet, her breasts swaying with the motion.
Looking up at him through lashes heavy with unshed tears, she took him into her mouth.
Her lips stretched wide around his girth as she sucked him in, tongue swirling around the sensitive head.
She bobbed her head with wet, eager strokes, hollowing her cheeks to create delicious suction.
Saliva coated him, dripping down her chin as she took him deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate his thickness.
Tristan’s hand finally twitched at his side, fingers flexing, but he didn’t grab her hair not yet.
His cock throbbed against her tongue, growing impossibly harder, the musky scent of him filling her senses.
After several long, torturous minutes, she pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock.
Standing on shaky legs, Ophelia pushed him back onto the couch.
He let her, sprawling back with that same arrogant smirk, though his eyes were now dark with lust.
She climbed onto his lap, straddling his powerful thighs.
Her soaked pussy hovered just above his rigid length, her arousal already dripping onto him, coating the head of his cock with her slick heat.
She reached between them, wrapping her fingers around his throbbing shaft and guiding it to her entrance.
The blunt head nudged against her folds, parting them.
Ophelia sank slowly, inch by inch, a long, shaky moan tearing from her throat as he stretched her open.
He was so thick, filling her, the burn of it exquisite.
Her walls fluttered around him, clenching greedily as she bottomed out, their bodies flush together.
She paused there, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then she began to move.
Rolling her hips in deep, deliberate circles, she rode him with aching slowness at first, savoring every ridge and vein dragging along her inner walls.
The wet, obscene sounds of her pussy sliding up and down his cock filled the room slick, rhythmic, filthy.
Tristan’s hands stayed at his sides for a few moments longer, fists clenched, but his gaze was locked on where they joined, watching her stretch around him.
Ophelia’s pace quickened.
She braced her hands on his shoulders and bounced harder, her breasts jiggling with every downward slam.
The couch creaked beneath them.
Tristan finally broke.
His large hands gripped her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks.
He leaned forward, capturing one flushed nipple in his hot mouth.
Ophelia cried out, her head falling back, long hair cascading down her spine.
“Ah…Tristan!” She rode him faster, slamming down onto his cock again and again, grinding her swollen clit against his pelvis on every stroke.
Sweat slicked their skin, her juices coating his balls and thighs.
“Fuck, you are so tight,” Tristan groaned against her breast, the vibration sending shivers through her.
He switched to the other nipple, sucking even more greedily, his tongue lashing it mercilessly.
His hips began thrusting up to meet her, powerful strokes that drove him impossibly deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust.
The coil of pleasure in Ophelia’s belly tightened unbearably.
She rode him with wild abandon now, her moans turning into desperate, broken cries.
Her inner walls pulsed and fluttered around his pistoning cock.
Tristan’s control was shattered completely.
He grabbed her hips with bruising force, holding her in place as he pounded up into her relentlessly.
The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“That’s it,” he growled, voice low and rough, lips brushing her ear.
“Ride my cock like the desperate little mistress you are.”
The degrading words sent her spiraling.
Ophelia clenched hard around him, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.
Her body shook violently, thighs quivering as intense spasms ripped through her core.
She screamed his name, her pussy milking him in rhythmic contractions, flooding his cock with fresh wetness.
The pleasure was blinding, wave after wave leaving her trembling and breathless.
Tristan followed with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt.
His cock swelled and pulsed inside her as he came, hot spurts of cum filling her deeply, painting her walls.
He held her down firmly through every throb, grinding up into her to prolong the ecstasy.
They stayed locked together for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat.
Ophelia collapsed against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent musk, cologne, and sex.
Her body still twitched with aftershocks, his softening cock nestled warmly inside her.
Tristan’s hand ran slowly down her back, almost tenderly, tracing her spine.
His fingers tangled gently in her hair for a brief second.
Then, in a low, husky voice against her ear, he murmured, “Make sure you are on contraceptives.”
Ophelia closed her eyes, still catching her breath.
The weight of what she had just done, the humiliation, the pleasure settled over her like a heavy blanket.