His weight was a heavy, suffocating blanket on top of you. One hand was fisted in your hair, pressing your cheek into the mattress, while the other gripped your hip, holding you in place for his pleasure. His hard, clothed cock rutted relentlessly against the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. The friction was maddening, a constant, agonizing pressure directly on your clit that was just enough to keep you on the precipice, but never enough to push you over.

Every rock of his hips sent a jolt of desperate need through you. You tried to arch your back, to shift your angle to get more, to get anything that might lead to release. But his grip was iron. You were just an object, a warm, soft surface for him to grind against.

"Please," you whimpered, the word muffled by the sheets. "Please, I need... I need you inside me."

He let out a low, dark chuckle, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. "This isn't for you," he growled, his voice a rough pant against your ear. "This is for me. You're just my little toy, aren't you? Something warm to hump when I need to get off."