Phoenix and RAM

She caught him breaking in. Caught him cold. Phoenix had him on the floor before he could run. Now he’s stripped and shaking while she towers over him in nothing but heels and a cruel smile. Ram’s cock twitches even as he tries to look away. She grins. The crop comes down on his thigh—once, twice—each strike a clean, white-hot line. He grits his teeth but stays put. Good boy. She drops to her knees and takes him in her mouth, slow and wet, tongue swirling until he’s hard enough to ache. Then she stands, turns, and bends over the table, blonde hair falling across her back. She spreads herself, orders him in. He hesitates, so she snaps the crop against the small of her own back, a warning he feels in his spine. He pushes into her ass, inch by inch, fighting the tight ring. She shoves back, taking him all at once, breath hissing through her teeth. Every thrust is a fight—her owning him, him trying not to lose it. When she reaches back and slaps his hip, he fucks harder. The room smells like sweat and leather. She moans low, ugly, perfect. He’s just another toy tonight, and she’s far from finished with him.