I’ve been with many men, and each one had a different favorite position—the way they liked to take control, the way their hands roamed my body, the way they made me theirs. Some loved the intimacy of spooning, whispering filthy praise in my ear as they fucked me deep and slow, while others preferred the rough dominance of bending me over, gripping my hips as they lost themselves in the heat of it. There were those who worshiped the view of me on top, watching me ride them with hungry eyes, while others couldn’t get enough of seeing me pinned beneath them, helpless and begging for more. Every man had his own way of claiming me, and I knew exactly how to give them what they wanted.
Andrew’s favorite position?
Andrew’s favorite position? Me, bent over the table, begging—no, demanding—that he take me harder, deeper. I know how much he loves it when I lift one leg, letting him sink into me with an unbearable, toe-curling depth. My body clenches around him, and the groan he lets out is wrecked, desperate—like he’s barely holding on.
But neither am I. My voice spills into the air in broken moans, my fingers clawing at the table as he fists a hand in my hair, tugging just enough to send a delicious sting down my spine. The sharp pull makes me arch, makes me open up even more, and I feel him—every inch, every unrelenting thrust—dragging me higher, drowning me in pleasure.
I’m no different from him, yelling practically screaming at the top of my lungs as he mercilessly juts his hips forward, his cock so deep in me can feel every inch of him inside of me. I love it when he fists a hand through my hair and tugs each time he thrusts into me, the pleasure mixing with the pain making me moan.
I moaned so loudly making Andrew think he could come right there. But then I start rolling my hips back onto his cock and Andrew knows he’s a goner because there’s no way he can last long with the way I’ve been pushing myself back on his cock and moaning so sweet like honey dripping from your lips he wants to see so desperately covered in his cum.
Sev’s favorite position?
Reverse cowgirl. It took him a while to love it the way he does now—he’s a boob guy, always wanting his mouth on me while he fucks me, so the adjustment wasn’t easy. But the moment I sank down on his cock, that all changed. Now, it’s his favorite.
He loves the view of my ass, the way he can reach forward, grab a handful, and pull me down onto him so hard and fast that I scream his name like it’s the only thing I know. He loves that he can just lie back and watch as I ride him, my body taking him so perfectly. But Sev gets impatient. He always does.
His hands find my waist, dragging me up against his chest as his fingers squeeze my tits roughly, kneading them, claiming them. His lips are at my shoulder, biting, sucking, leaving bruises as my hips move over him in slow, sinful rolls.
And then he starts whispering, his voice dark, teasing. “You like that, babygirl? I bet you do… You’re my beautiful, dirty little cock slut, aren’t you?”
I moan, nodding, grinding against him, and Sev only laughs—low, deep, wrecked—before gripping my hips tighter, holding me in place as he fucks up into me, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.
Luca’s favorite position?
He loves the closeness, the way our bodies stay pressed together as he fucks me, the erratic sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The heat between us only makes him move harder, faster—his hips snapping against me relentlessly, his cock burying deep inside me from behind.
One of his hands grips my chin, tilting my head roughly until I’m facing him. His lips crash into mine in a scorching kiss, all tongue and teeth, before he bites down on my bottom lip—painful, teasing—the sharp sting mixing with the overwhelming pleasure of his deep, unrelenting thrusts.
His hand slides down to my throat, fingers pressing just enough to make my breath hitch, while his other hand moves to my tits, squeezing, teasing. Then his lips find my neck, sucking harshly at the skin until I know I’ll be wearing his mark for days. When he pulls back, he smirks, satisfied.
And then he really starts fucking me. Hard. Fast. So deep I can’t think—can’t breathe—only moan his name in broken, breathless pleas.
Luca groans, his voice thick with lust. “Such a good girl for me… Gonna make you cum so hard, babydoll.”
I whimper, my body tightening around him, and he only laughs, dark and hungry—before fucking me straight into oblivion.
Nico’s favorite position?
Me, lying on my stomach, completely at his mercy. He loves the way I grip the sheets, knuckles white, as he drives his hips forward, filling me over and over again. But more than that, he loves the sight of me unraveling beneath him—moaning, squirming, utterly wrecked.
He sees everything from this angle. Every shudder, every desperate arch of my back, every tremor of pleasure coursing through me. But most of all, he sees my ass, his favorite thing to touch, to squeeze, to mark until my skin turns a deep shade of red. He’s an ass man through and through, and when he has unlimited access like this, there’s nowhere his hands won’t roam.
And I know what it does to him when I let him take me like this—when I give in completely, body pliant beneath him, voice breaking as I beg, “Please, Nico… I need more.”
I feel his smirk against my skin before he stills inside me, teasing, making me whimper in frustration. His voice is low, rough, full of dark promise. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m gonna fuck you like you need.”
Then his hand presses firm against the back of my neck, pinning me down just enough to send a shiver through my spine. And when he starts moving again—pounding into me so hard my breath stutters, my body molding to his rhythm—I know I’m done for.
Completely, utterly his.
