ALICE'S POV
His hands are on my hips, gripping tight like he's trying to brand himself into my skin. I brace myself against the bedframe, body arched, breath uneven. I don't know his name. Met him at the bar last night. Told him I liked it rough, and he said, "Good. So do I." I didn't ask for anything else. This is our third round. Right now, all I want is the weight of him behind me. The sound of skin slapping skin. The burn. The stretch. The release. He's giving it to me just how I like it—no hesitation, no sweetness. Just raw, messy pleasure. His pace is merciless, and I grind back into him with every thrust.
"Fuck, that's it," I gasp, hair sticking to my damp skin. "Harder—don't slow down."
He groans, thrusting deeper, and I clench the sheets beneath me, letting the waves take over. Almost there. Just a little more—
"Princess?!"
The voice echoes faintly from downstairs. Calm. Male. Familiar. Only one person annoyingly calls me that. My heart stops. Shit.
