I Teased Him Until He Couldn’t Take It Anymore

I had always flirted with him, just a little—touches that lingered too long, subtle looks, biting my lip when I caught his eyes. I could tell he noticed. One night, I pushed it further. I sat next to him in a thin top with no bra, pretending not to notice how hard his eyes locked on me. I leaned in close when I talked, made sure he felt the warmth of my skin. He stayed still, tried to play it cool, but I saw his jaw tighten.

Then I whispered something filthy in his ear, so soft it gave him chills. That was all it took. His hands were on me fast, pulling me into his lap, kissing me like he’d been holding back for months. The way he touched me—rough, desperate, full of all the tension we’d built up—it was exactly what I needed. I didn’t want soft. I wanted to feel owned, and he gave it to me without saying a word.