"Too much?"

"Not enough!"

She ripped her cashmere sweater over her head in one wild motion—no grace, just pure desperation, fabric catching on her hair before she flung it away. Underneath was a sheer black lace bralette—barely there, cups overflowing with her tits, lace so thin her dark nipples and wide areolas were completely visible, stiff peaks stabbing through like they were trying to tear free.

She'd dressed to be devoured.

And then she ground down—hard, shameless—straddling him fully, skirt bunched around her waist, soaked lace panties pressing directly against his boxer-clad cock.

The contact was electric.

Only two flimsy layers between her dripping cunt and his massive, throbbing length. She could feel everything—the scorching heat, the impossible thickness splitting her lips through the fabric, the flared head nudging her entrance on every roll, the thick veins pulsing against her clit as she dragged herself along him.

"Oh fuck—" Her voice shattered, head falling back, tits bouncing hard in the lace as she started riding him frantically. "Phei—it's so big—I can feel every vein—fuck—"

"I know," he growled, hands clamping her ass—fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, spreading her cheeks, yanking her down harder on every grind. "I feel you too—your greedy little pussy soaking through both layers, lips spreading around my cock like you're trying to suck me in already."

She was humping him like a desperate animal—hips snapping in wild, sloppy thrusts, grinding her clit along his length with every roll, slick flooding out to soak his boxers darker, the wet friction making obscene squelching sounds. Her tits bounced wildly—lace scraping her nipples raw, threatening to spill free with every movement.

"More—" she sobbed, nails raking his exposed chest, drawing red lines. "I need more—need you inside me—rip my panties—fuck me right here—please, Phei—I'm begging—make me take it—"

Part of him—the Dragon—roared to do exactly that: tear the soaked lace aside, line up, and bury every thick inch in her dripping cunt in one brutal thrust, watch her scream as he stretched her wide open in the open air.

His restraint was razor-thin.

His cock throbbed violently against her—pre-come leaking in heavy pulses, soaking through both layers, mixing with her slick.

But... not here. Not yet. Soon.

She ground harder—faster, hips snapping in raw, frantic rhythm, chasing the friction like her life depended on it. The wet cotton of her soaked panties slid against the drenched cotton of his boxers—obscene, slippery glide, her swollen pussy lips spreading wide around the massive ridge of his cock, clit dragging brutally along every throbbing vein with every desperate thrust.

Slick poured from her—thick, creamy arousal soaking through both layers, mixing with his leaking pre-come until the fabric between them was transparent and clinging, her cunt outlined perfectly against his shaft, the flared head nudging her entrance on every roll like it was trying to push inside.

"You're beautiful," she gasped between rolls, voice wrecked and shaking. "You're so fucking beautiful—"

The word wasn't enough. He was devastating—the kind of face and body that started wars, ruined lives, made women like her lose their minds and beg. And he was letting her grind on him—letting her use his cock, letting her soak him with her desperation.

Delilah leaned down and attacked his collarbone with her mouth—lips hot and open, sucking hard, tongue lashing the skin, teeth scraping and biting down just enough to mark. She moved lower—down his exposed chest, mouth ravenous, sucking wet trails over his pecs, biting the hard ridge above his heart, tongue swirling around his nipple before she latched on and sucked hard.

Phei's hips bucked up—involuntary, savage—driving his cock harder against her clit, the thick head punching up through the soaked fabric to grind against her entrance.

She moaned—loud, broken—and did it again: licked his nipple in sloppy circles, sucked it deep into her mouth, teeth grazing sharp as her hips slammed down to meet his thrust.

"Do that again," he growled, voice rough and commanding.

She obeyed—mouth attacking his nipple with desperate hunger, sucking and biting while her hips kept grinding, faster, harder, the wet slap of soaked fabric echoing in the open air.

His hands slid from her hips to her ass—gripping brutally, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, spreading her cheeks wide as he yanked her down harder on every thrust. Guiding her, controlling her rhythm even as she lost her mind.

"You're going to make me come in my boxers," he rasped, voice thick with lust. "Is that what you want, princess? Want me to soak these pants with how hard you're making me?"

"Yes—" she sobbed, grinding faster, tits bouncing wildly under the sweater. "Yes—want to feel it—want your cum on my pussy and thighs—please—"

"Greedy girl."

She shuddered violently—whole body clenching, pussy gushing fresh slick as the words hit her.

"Please—" she begged, hips slamming down, clit grinding brutally against his shaft. "Please come—want to make you feel good—want your cock pulsing against my cunt—"

She was babbling—completely gone, mind blank with need, hips moving in frantic, sloppy thrusts. The pressure built low in her belly—tight, burning, unstoppable. Phei went faster on her clit, his intention obvious.

"Phei—" her voice cracked, tears pricking her eyes again. "I'm going to—I can't—please—"

"Let go."

She did.

The orgasm exploded through her—body seizing hard, back arching off his lap, tits thrusting up as she screamed his name raw and desperate. She bit down on his shoulder to muffle it—teeth sinking deep into muscle, marking him hard enough to bruise—as her cunt clenched and came violently, hot juices soaking through her panties and his boxers in messy, forceful pulses, drenching them both, puddling on the bench beneath them.

And beneath her—he tensed—cock pulsing thick and heavy against her spasming pussy, throbbing hard as he came—hot ropes of cum flooding his boxers, soaking through the fabric to mix with her slick, the warmth spreading between them until she felt every pulse like he was coming inside her.

His hands gripped her ass harder—bruising, possessive—a deep, guttural groan ripping from his throat as he bucked up into her, riding out the waves.

They stayed locked like that—her slumped against his chest, face buried in his bitten shoulder, body shaking with aftershocks; him leaning back, eyes closed, one hand stroking her sweat-damp hair while the other kept her ass clamped tight against him.

"Fuck," he rasped eventually, voice wrecked.

"Yeah," she mumbled, barely coherent.

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

She lifted her head—panic flashing through the haze. "Are you—did I—I'm sorry, I pushed—"

"Delilah." His hand cupped her jaw, thumb smearing the tears and spit on her cheek. "I just came in my boxers like a teenager because you ground that perfect pussy on me until I lost it. I'm not upset."

Relief flooded her—fresh tears spilling.

"But we do have a problem."

She followed his gaze down—to the absolute mess between her thighs: panties transparent and clinging, soaked with both their cum, dripping down her legs in shiny trails, his boxers dark and ruined, cum still leaking from the tip to mix with her slick.

"Can't have you walking back like that."

Delilah flushed deeper—but didn't move to cover herself.

Phei reached into his discarded blazer, pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief—white, crisp—and pressed it between her legs without asking.

She gasped—hips jerking at the gentle pressure—as he wiped her clean: slow, deliberate strokes along her inner thighs, over her soaked panties, absorbing the mess with careful precision. The intimacy burned hotter than the orgasm—him cleaning his cum and her squirt from her skin like she was something precious he'd marked and now tended.

He folded the soiled cloth—cum-soaked, scented with both of them—and tucked it into his pocket.

Keeping it.

Delilah's heart stuttered.

"Your turn," she whispered, reaching for him.

"I'll handle it." He was already pulling his pants up, wincing at the wet fabric. "Spare uniform in my locker."

"But—"

"Delilah." His voice gentled. "Let me take care of this."

She nodded—obedient, trusting—watching him button his shirt, fix his tie, transform back into perfect composure while she sat there skirt around her waist, tits heaving, panties ruined.

When he was done, he pulled her close—one last deep kiss, slow and claiming.

"Check your locker," he murmured against her lips. "After the last period."

Her eyes widened. "What—"

"You'll see." His smile was dark promise. "Something I want you to have."

He stood, helped her fix her sweater and skirt with gentle hands—fingers lingering on her skin longer than necessary.

"Fix your makeup," he said softly. "Go back to class. Act normal."

"I don't know if I can."

"You can. Because I'm telling you to."

She nodded—tears still shining in her eyes.

"Yes. For you."

He kissed her forehead—soft, possessive.

"Don't make me regret this."

"I won't." A vow. "I won't."

She walked away on shaky legs—back to the world where she was still the perfect princess.

But every step reminded her of the mess between her thighs, the ache in her nipples, the taste of him on her tongue.

And the promise in her locker waiting.

She was going to spend the next three periods completely, utterly consumed.

And she couldn't wait.

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