In Perfect Rhythm

I still remember the look in Scott’s eyes the moment I pinned him down. He was 6 feet tall, all lean muscle and golden skin, with messy blonde hair and that perfectly sculpted jawline. But in my hands, he was mine — and he knew it.

I had teased him whole session— soft grazes, deep stares, my fingers lingering just a second too long. He tried to keep his cool, but I saw through it. That quiet submission under his strong frame was irresistible.

When I finally straddled him, the heat between us was electric. I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “You want to give in to me, don’t you?” He nodded — breathless — and I took full control. My hands trailed down his chest, slowly, deliberately, while my hips rolled with intention.

I kept eye contact as I reached down, wrapping my fingers around him — firm, slow, commanding. His body arched under me, craving more, but I set the pace. Every stroke of my hand made him twitch, every grind from me made him moan. I was on top, in charge, and loving every second of it.

His eyes were pleading, his fists clutching the sheets. I leaned in, kissed him deep, and kept stroking him in rhythm to my thrusts. I could feel us both building, matching each other’s urgency. The moment our bodies tensed and shuddered together, pumping in perfect sync — it was passionate, powerful, and completely mine.

Scott was  breathless beneath me, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling in that sweet mix of surrender and need. His blonde hair was damp with sweat, those sharp cheekbones glowing in the low light. I didn’t give him time to rest — I didn’t want to. His body was mine tonight, and I wanted to push him further.

I ran my fingers down his abs, slow and deliberate, feeling the tight muscles twitch under my touch. “You thought that was it?” I whispered against his neck, letting my lips graze his pulse. “I haven’t even begun.”

He whimpered — yes, whimpered — and that only turned me on more. I kissed him hard, tasting the mix of lust and submission in his mouth, then pulled back and straddled him again. My hips pressed down with intention, controlling every shift, every inch of friction. I held his wrists above his head with one hand, my nails digging in just enough for him to feel who was in control. The other hand wrapped around him — firm and steady — stroking him back to full, throbbing need.

I worked him slow at first, dragging it out, teasing him with rhythm and pressure that made him gasp and buck, only to pin him harder. His moans filled the room as I built the pace, both our bodies slick and aching. I whispered filthy things into his ear — how good he felt, how perfect he was when he gave in to me, how I owned this moment and every inch of him.

His body begged for release, and I could feel the tension coil tight between us. I was right there with him — every grind, every thrust building into something deep and burning. I kissed him again, open and hard, my hand still working him with timed precision, while our hips met with hungry power.

He looked up at me, eyes wide and desperate — “Please, Jocy…”

That’s when I let go — completely. I took him with everything I had, moving faster, deeper, gripping him harder, until I felt that final trembling gasp in his body. And just as he cried out and spilled into my hand, I came too — intense and overwhelming — our cries tangled together in perfect, breathless release.

We collapsed into each other, bodies shaking, soaked in sweat and satisfaction. I traced circles on his chest, lips still tingling from the kiss, as he lay beneath me — undone, conquered, and completely mine.