I sank into the leather chair, the cool material a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off Chloe. The slow, rhythmic beat of Snooze began to fill the room, the bass thumping low and heavy, vibrating through the floorboards.

​Chloe didn't wait for an answer. She stepped into the space between my legs, her hips rolling in perfect time with SZA's voice. The fishnet bodysuit was a blur of black lines against her honeyed skin as she began a slow, deliberate catwalk around the chair. Every step was calculated to show off the shelf of her backside and the deep, swaying curve of her waist.

​"You've been watching other girls perform all day, Druski," she whispered, leaning down so her full breasts brushed against my shoulders, the mesh of the bodysuit slightly abrasive and incredibly erotic. "But they don't know you like I do. They don't know what makes you tick."

​She spun around, placing her hands on my knees and dropping into a deep, slow squat. The view was staggering; the fishnet stretched to its absolute limit over her thighs as she looked up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. Then, she stood up slowly, dragging her body against mine, the friction of the mesh sending sparks across my skin.

​She turned her back to me and lowered herself onto my lap, her massive, rounded glutes settling firmly against my hardness. She began to grind in a slow, circular motion, her head falling back onto my shoulder as she let out a soft, shaky breath.

​"Do your girls make you feel like this?" she murmured, her hands reaching back to lace behind my neck. "Does Sasha?"

​She moved with a raw, desperate energy, her body a perfect instrument of sedition. She wasn't just giving me a dance; she was marking me, trying to drown out the memories of every other woman I'd touched today with the sheer, overwhelming weight of her own curves.

​"I'm the only one who really belongs to you," she gasped, her grinding becoming more frantic as she felt how much I was struggling to keep my hands off her.

My patience had evaporated the second she dropped into that first rhythmic grind. I reached out, my hands locking onto her hips, my fingers digging into the soft give of her skin through the diamond-patterned mesh of the fishnet.

​She let out a sharp, surprised gasp that quickly melted into a low moan of approval. I dragged my hands down, tracing the heavy, muscular curve of her thighs before sliding back up to cup her breasts. They were warm and heavy in my palms, the nipples hardening even further against the abrasive texture of the bodysuit.

​Feeling my touch, Chloe's energy shifted from a performance to a conquest. She turned her back to me, bracing her hands on the arms of the leather chair and leaning forward. The angle was perfect, putting those massive, rounded glutes right in my face.

​She began to shake her ass with a violent, rhythmic intensity, the weight of her body pressing firmly against my naked, throbbing cock. The friction of the fishnet was incredible—it felt like a thousand tiny fingers massaging me with every jiggle and roll of her hips.

​"Is this what you wanted, Druski?" she panted, her head hanging low as she looked back at me over her shoulder, her eyes dark with a mixture of submission and raw lust. "Is this better than the studio?"

​I didn't answer with words. I leaned forward, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat and perfume as I gripped her waist even tighter. I could feel the heat radiating off her, a physical force that filled the space between us. I was no longer just the "Main Man" on a screen; I was the king of this penthouse, and she was doing everything in her power to ensure I never looked at another woman again.

I reached under her arms and hoisted her up, her weight feeling substantial and perfect in my grip. Chloe let out a squeal of delight that turned into a deep moan as she wrapped her thick thighs around my waist, her heels locking behind my back to keep herself anchored to me.

​I carried her the few steps to the king-sized bed, the silk sheets cool against the back of my legs before I dropped her onto the mattress. She bounced slightly, her hair splaying out like a dark halo against the pillows. The fishnet bodysuit was riding high, cutting deep into the curves of her hips and framing her body in a way that made her look like a captive goddess.

​I moved over her, my shadow stretching across her body as I pinned her wrists above her head.

​"You want to be my queen, Chloe?" I asked, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Then you need to remember that I'm the one who wears the crown. No more games. No more thirty-seven missed calls."

​"I know," she whispered, her chest heaving, the mesh of her suit rising and falling with her frantic breaths. "Just touch me, Hart. Please."

​I reached down and gripped the edge of the bodysuit's neckline, the fabric groaning as I pulled it down, exposing her heavy, aching breasts to the cool air of the room. I took my time, worshiping her body with a hunger that had been building since I saw her on that porch in Queens.

​The night was no longer about the studio, or the fame, or the 'pornstar' persona. It was about raw, unfiltered possession. I was going to make sure that by the time the sun came up, the only name she'd be able to scream was mine.

I crashed my lips against hers, a hungry, bruising kiss that tasted of raw possession. Chloe groaned into my mouth, her hands clawing at my back as she arched her spine, trying to fuse her body with mine. The "Main Man" wasn't playing tonight, and she could feel the change in my energy—the cold, calculated edge of the studio had turned into a burning, physical need.

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