The moment Elena turned twenty-four, she knew she wanted more than just a ring on her finger. She wanted to belong to someone who would claim every inch of her. That someone was Marcus—thirty-four, broad-shouldered, and unapologetically in charge. The first time he told her to strip in his living room, she felt her knees go weak. She peeled off her dress, panties, and bra while he watched from his leather chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, eyes dark with approval.

"Hands behind your back," he ordered. She obeyed instantly, breasts lifted, nipples already tight. Marcus rose, circled her, and ran two fingers between her thighs. "Already wet for me. Good girl." He pushed those fingers into her mouth so she could taste herself, then bent her over the arm of the couch. He didn’t ask; he simply unzipped, freed his thick cock, and drove into her in one smooth thrust. Elena cried out, gripping the cushion while he fucked her with steady, punishing strokes that made her toes curl.