The moment we stepped into the cinema, I knew I was in trouble.

You shot me that look as we handed over our tickets. That sly, wicked curve of your mouth that made my stomach twist and my thighs clench involuntarily. There was a heat in your eyes that never quite simmered down, not even in public, and tonight it radiated from you like a living thing.

We chose seats tucked away in the very back row, half-shielded by shadows, the screen a distant glow ahead of us. The hum of voices around us faded as the trailers began, and you casually threw your arm across the back of my seat, fingers brushing my shoulder in idle, innocent strokes.

Except they were anything but innocent.

You toyed with the strap of my top, letting your fingers skim the bare skin of my upper arm, circling lazily. I fought to keep my attention fixed on the opening credits, but when you leaned in to whisper against my ear, your breath warm and teasing, I shivered.

“You wore this little skirt just for me, didn’t you?” you murmured, voice dripping with amusement.

I bit my lip and pretended to ignore you, but my body betrayed me, my thighs pressing tightly together. You noticed, of course you did. Your fingers drifted lower, gliding down my side, slow and deliberate.

It started with small touches. The back of your knuckles trailing the curve of my waist. Your fingertips brushing the inside of my thigh, teasing the hem of my skirt, pushing boundaries with maddening subtlety.

When your hand finally slid higher, under the flimsy fabric, I gasped quietly. The air felt thick, oppressive, like the whole theatre would turn and catch us at any moment, but it only made the tension sharper. Your fingers skimmed the lace of my panties, finding the heat already soaking through.

“Fuck, you are soaked,” you breathed against my ear, a low groan rumbling through your chest.

I gripped the armrest tight as your fingers traced lazy circles over the damp material, so light it drove me mad. Every nerve ending screamed for more, but you were ruthless, never giving more than the barest touch.

Not to be outdone, I let my hand fall into your lap. I traced along the inside of your thigh, feeling the tension coiled beneath your jeans. I found your cock, already thick and hard, straining against the fabric. Slowly, deliberately, I rubbed the length of you through your jeans, watching with satisfaction as your breath hitched.

You turned your head, pressing your forehead against mine for a brief moment, laughing under your breath.

“Behave,” you growled, voice strained.

“You first,” I whispered sweetly.

The rest of the film passed in a blur of torture. Your hand never left my thigh, occasionally sliding higher, brushing the drenched fabric of my panties but never slipping underneath. My fingers traced maddening patterns over your cock, feeling you twitch beneath my touch, knowing you were just as wrecked as I was.

Neither of us gave in.
Neither of us truly touched.
The game was clear.

We were going to make it hurt.

By the time the credits rolled, we were on a knife-edge. You grabbed my hand and pulled me up so fast I nearly stumbled. We made a show of calm walking to the car, but the second we were inside, your hand was on my thigh again, gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

The drive home was pure agony.
Your thumb drawing circles too close to the edge.
My hand stroking you through your jeans until your knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.
But still we held back.
Still we obeyed the rules.

Until we pulled into the driveway.

The car had barely stopped before you were out, slamming the door, racing around to yank mine open. You grabbed me, half dragging, half carrying me up the short path to the front door.

We stumbled through the door together, laughing, breathless, clumsy with need.

The hallway table caught my hip, and before I could catch my balance, you shoved me forward against it. My hands braced on the cool wood, my heart hammering in my chest.

You stood behind me, breathing hard.

“You think you can tease me like that and not pay for it?” you growled.

You shoved my skirt up, exposing my soaked panties. They clung to me, slick and transparent. You hooked your fingers into them and yanked them down roughly, letting them fall around my ankles.

Before I could even beg, even plead, you were there.
One hand grabbing my hair, pulling my head back.
The other guiding your cock against my soaked pussy.

You pushed in with one brutal thrust.

I cried out, the sudden fullness stealing my breath. The stretch burned in the most delicious way. You stayed deep for a moment, grinding your hips against mine, filling me so completely I felt the world tilt.

“You are so fucking wet,” you hissed against my ear. “So desperate. You loved teasing me, did you not? Loved acting like a little brat in the theatre.”

I whimpered, pushing my hips back against you, aching for more.

“You will take everything I give you,” you snarled, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into me. “And you will thank me for it.”

The table creaked beneath us as you fucked me. Each thrust was savage, driving me forward, forcing my body to absorb the shock. I gripped the edges of the table until my fingers ached.

You were relentless.
Using me.
Owning me.

You reached around and grabbed my breasts, squeezing, pinching my nipples until I cried out, the sting mixing with the pleasure until I could not tell them apart.

“You should feel how tight you are,” you muttered, voice rough. “Gripping my cock like your life depends on it.”

I was babbling now, words lost to the rhythm you set, the heat blooming low in my belly. The build-up from the cinema, the teasing, the stolen touches, all of it crashed down on me at once.

I came hard, my body locking up, my pussy clenching and pulsing around you as I screamed your name into the empty hallway.

You fucked me through it, holding my hips still, grinding deep inside me, refusing to let me escape the overwhelming pleasure.

With a final, deep thrust, you spilled inside me, a broken groan torn from your throat as you filled me, warmth flooding deep.

You slumped over me, both of us gasping for breath, bodies trembling with the force of it.

After a moment, you pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, slow and sweet, and whispered:

“Next time, I am going to make you cum on my cock during the film. Loud enough that someone notices. And you are going to thank me for it, right there, with my cock still buried inside you.”

I whimpered at the thought, my pussy clenching around the softening length still nestled inside me.

And you laughed softly against my skin.

“You are already looking forward to it, aren’t you, little tease?”

I nodded weakly, completely, utterly ruined.
And you kissed my shoulder again, already plotting how to break me all over again.