The city pulses around us, neon lights flickering, but here, in this dark, hidden alley, I am yours.

Your hand grips my wrist, spinning me, pinning me—back against the cold, rough brick.

“Look at you,” you murmur, voice thick with hunger. “Out here, like this. Dripping for me.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can only feel—the heat of your body pressing into mine, the hard ridge of your magic stick straining against your jeans. I want it. I want everything.

You slide your fingers beneath my dress, push my panties aside, and when you find me, soaking, throbbing, ready, you groan, low and possessive.

“I should make you beg.”

But we both know you won’t. You need this as much as I do.

I gasp as you yank my leg up around your hip, my body arching, opening—then the sound of your belt, your zipper, the sharp intake of breath as you press the thick head of your conductor’s baton against my entrance.

“Tell me you want it.”

A challenge. A demand.

I meet your eyes.

“Take me.”

Then you thrust.

Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.

I cry out, head falling back against the wall, my body stretching, clenching, taking every inch of you. You don’t give me time to adjust—you just start fucking me, deep and brutal, each thrust slamming me against the brick, the cold scraping my bare shoulders as heat consumes me from the inside out.

Filthy. Raw. Perfect.

I wrap my arms around your neck, nails digging into your skin, anchoring myself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your grip tightens on my waist, your other hand finding my throat, tilting my chin up so you can watch me—watch my lips part, my brows knit, my body tremble as you take me higher, harder, faster.

“Come for me,” you order, your thumb finding my clit, circling, pressing, pushing me over the edge.

I exploooooo-oh-oh-oh-ooooooo-oh-oh-oh-oooode!

A body-shaking, knee-weakening, back-arching detonation.

I cry out, the sound swallowed by the night, my holy cave clamping down around you, dragging you deeper, milking you. My body trembles, pulsing, drowning in pleasure.

And then you follow—a deep, guttural groan, your body tensing, your grip turning bruising as you spill inside me, filling me, owning me.

For a moment, there’s nothing but our breath, our sweat, our mingled release.

Then you lean in, your lips brushing my ear as you whisper—

“Next time, I’ll make you scream.”