His hand shifts to my hip, brief enough to feel almost careless. Then his fingers tighten, and he turns me around, walking me forward.

The leather arm of the couch waits at hip level.

“Bend over.”

Air catches high in my chest as I bend over the dark leather. The arm presses into my stomach, my hands brace on the seat, the shirt riding up my thighs.

“Further.”

I stretch forward until my chest meets the cushion. My hips tilt up. My fingers curl into the leather.

He gathers the shirt and pushes it up my back. Cool air brushes my skin. He palms my ass through my panties, squeezing once.

“Stay.”

I stay.

He pulls the panties down my thighs. I lift my feet when he tugs them off, and he drops them somewhere behind me. Then his palm spans the small of my back and presses me down.

“I’ve had a long day.” His voice is low. Rough at the edges from the liquor. “And you’re going to help me with that.”

He leaves me bent there. Behind me, the nightstand drawer opens and closes before his footsteps return.

A lid snaps open. Then he touches me where no one has touched before.

I flinch. My hips jerk forward against the couch arm.

“Stay still.”

I go still, fingers digging into the leather cushion.

He presses lube against my tight hole. Cold and slick. One finger circles, pushing gently. The sensation is foreign. My body resists, clenching tight.

“Relax.”

I try, though relaxation feels impossible with him pressing there, circling, working the lube into me until the tightness begins to give. I breathe through it, face pressed into the couch cushion.

“Good.”

The word lands like a reward I hadn’t let myself expect.

He adds more lube and pushes past the first ring of muscle. I gasp into the leather. The stretch burns, my body clenching hard before it begins to yield.

“Breathe.”

I breathe.

He works inside me with small strokes, opening me slowly before adding more lube and pressing in a second finger. The stretch sharpens, and a whimper slips out before I can stop it.