“Only me,” I repeat on an exhale, fingers digging into his hips as I snap my hips forward, picking up the pace. My forehead goes to the back of his neck and I put my hand over his on my hip, slotting our fingers together and biting at his sweat damp ski. I want to suck a bruise there, mark him for everyone to see, but I manage to pull myself away before I can. Later, upstairs, I’ll leave bruises on the insides of his thighs where only I can see.

The counter rattles a little with the force of our lovemaking, seeing ballpoint pins and highlighters rolling to the floor, and I laugh under my breath as I work my hand between the counter and his body so I can grab his cock. It’s so hard, so wet, and I let out a possessive grunt against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Not until I say,” I remind him, stroking him with a loose grip, counterpoint to the rocking of my hips. “Remember?”