Claimed, Not Finished**

She licked her lips slowly, deliberately, savoring the taste of him with a reverence that made it worse. Or better. He didn't know. His breath stuttered in his throat, every inch of him twitching with overstimulation and hunger.

She sat back on her heels between his thighs, looking at him the way a queen regards a tribute: pleased, smug, but knowing it wasn't nearly enough.

"You're still hard," she whispered, a slow smile playing on her lips as her fingers circled him again, gentle now, reverent, like she was stroking fire she alone could control. "Adorable."

He whimpered. He didn't want to be adorable. He just wanted to survive her.

She crawled up the bed with feline grace, straddling his hips as the silk of her robe fell away completely, revealing flushed, aching curves that seemed to glow in the low light. Her inner thighs framed him, warm and firm against his sides, as she lowered herself, letting the slick heat of her folds drag along his shaft, slow and taunting.

Not taking him inside. Not yet.

"Feel that?" she muttered, dragging her soaked pussy across his cock, slow and wet. "That's what you did to me, Riku. I'm dripping. And I'm going to fuck you with every drop."

He groaned, deep and broken, his hips twitching up before he could stop himself. His breath came out in gasps, throat tight, chest heaving.

She didn't wait.

She straddled him, reached down, and grabbed his cock in one firm stroke. Her fingers were slick from herself, and she lined him up without grace, just need.

And then, she dropped.

Hard.

"Ahhhh....fuck...." he choked out, his voice cracking as she sank all the way down. Her pussy sucked him in, hot and so fucking tight he thought he might come just from the stretch.

She let out a sound, half moan, half snarl, her mouth hanging open as her body adjusted to the size of him.

"Fuck, you're thick," she hissed, breath hitching. "Stay right there."

She didn't ease in. She fucked down on him, hard, wet, fast, skin slapping, his cock buried deep, her thighs slapping against him.

He moaned again, louder this time—almost a sob. It broke from his chest like it had been trapped too long.

"Ah....ahh....shit....!"

His hands shot up but she pinned them. One hand on his wrist. The other on his chest. Her nails dug in. Her body pounded against his.

"You're mine right now," she grunted. "You feel how wet I am? You feel that grip? That's my pussy, owning you."

More sounds spilled out of him. Groans, grunts, broken gasps. He wasn't even trying to sound good—just trying to breathe.

"Uhh....fuck....uhhnn..."

She rode him like she needed to break him. Her tits bounced, her thighs flexed, and every time she came down, she gasped or cursed, sweat dripping from her chest onto his.

The wet noises between them were loud, shameless. Her soaked pussy slapped down, harder and faster, each thrust messier than the last.

Then came the shaking.

Her thighs trembled. Her breath hitched. She leaned in, forehead against his, her voice a low growl.

"Don't you dare come before I do."

He bit his lip. His whole body was on fire. His cock pulsed inside her. His legs were shaking.

And still, she moved.

Grinding now. Slower, deeper. Her moans started to rise, raw, shaky, almost ugly in the way that meant it was real.

"Aaannhh....aaannhhh....fuck...ah...!"

She clenched, cried out, and shoved down hard, her orgasm hitting like a wave crashing into him.

And he finally broke.

With a hoarse, gut-deep cry, he came, his body jerking under hers, gasping, helpless, spent.

She didn't move at first.

Just sat there, still on top of him, still wrapped around him, her body pulsing and twitching as if milking the last aftershocks out of him.

Her hips rolled lazily, teasing circles that made his thighs jerk beneath her. He couldn't breathe right.

Couldn't think.

Just stared at the ceiling like it might explain what just happened to him.

"Goddamn," she muttered, licking her lips, chest rising and falling. "You came like I cracked you open."

He made a broken sound, half gasp, half whimper, and his fingers twitched uselessly at his sides, like he wanted to touch her but didn't trust himself to move.

She leaned down, kissed the sweat off his cheek. "You okay, baby?"

He didn't answer. Just blinked up at her with dazed eyes, wrecked and silent.

A crooked grin tugged at her lips.

Then she lifted off him, slow and deliberate. A wet, dragging sound filled the air, and his whole body jerked like she'd yanked something out of his soul.

He shivered as cold air hit his slick skin.

She stood next to the bed, stretching with a casual, catlike roll of her shoulders. Naked, glowing, her thighs still streaked with him. No shame in her at all.

"Don't move," she said, already turning toward the door.

"W-Wait," he croaked.

She looked back with a raised brow. "I'll be back in two minutes. Don't touch your cock. Not even a stroke."

His lips parted like he wanted to argue, but she was already opening the door. Naked. Walking into the hallway like she owned the building.

She paused, glanced back with a wicked little smirk.

"I'm not done with you, Riku," she said, voice low and dark. "Just grabbing a towel... and maybe the lube."

His breath caught in his throat.

"You're gonna need it."

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut, leaving him alone, spread out, used up, heart pounding like a drum. His cock twitched, still hard, throbbing against his stomach.

Every inch of him felt hot and slick and oversensitive.

___

The hallway was quiet. She stepped out, naked, not bothering with a robe. The cool air hit her skin, but she didn't flinch. She walked over to the table near the entrance where her phone buzzed.

She picked it up.

"Where the hell are you?" a woman's voice snapped on the other end. Familiar. Tight with her. Probably the only one who could speak to her like that.

"I'm still here," she said flatly.

"It's been too long. You were supposed to check in yesterday. Things are shifting."

A pause. She looked back toward the bedroom door, still ajar.

"I'll come soon," she said. "Just... give me a little more time."

"You sure?" the voice asked. "You're getting too deep in."

The line went dead.

She stood still for a second, staring at the phone. Then her eyes dropped to the side table drawer, the slim black card inside it. She didn't open it. Just looked.

Her jaw clenched.

She thought of him. Sweet. Still warm from what they just did. Curious. Hungry. But young , in that fragile way only some men are when they think they're ready.

He'd break if she handed him that card.

She'd been watching him long enough to know, five years of small tests, little pressures, casual conversations. He was perfect for the bigger game. The right instincts. The loyalty. The softness where it mattered.

But not yet.

Not now.

She slipped the phone back down and turned around. No drama. No breathy sighs. Just her body moving through the space again, steady and bare.

Back to the room. Back to him.

She could wait.