The second time he had me… it was deeper. Rougher. More certain. There was no hesitation — only passion, dominance, and the kind of touch that leaves you aching long after it ends. His hands on my body felt like they belonged there. Every kiss, every thrust, every filthy word made it clear: I wasn’t being fucked… I was being kept. My moans turned to whimpers. My body didn’t just respond — it obeyed. He didn’t just take me again… he reminded me who I belonged to. Watching this back, I see the exact moment I surrendered completely. It wasn’t just another night — it was proof that I was already his, heart, body, and soul.