The moment Professor Amara slipped into the passenger seat of my car, her hijab farming those dark, forbidden eyes, I knew I was in trouble. Her scent—jasmine and nervous sweat—filled the car, and my grip tightened on the steering wheel. She fumbled with her mask, revealing flushed cheeks and lips that begged to be bitten. "Thank you for the ride, Zayan," she murmured, her voice trembling. I smirked, mu cock already hardening at the thought of what lay beneath her modest attire.

Months later, after her divorce, her vulnerability became my obsession. When she confessed her financial ruin, I played the hero—her hero—transferring funds behind the scenes, savoring the power of secrecy. But the night I paid her landlord, something primal snapped. Her gratitude wasn't enough. I wanted her trembling beneath me, begging for more than money.

The first kiss was electric. In her dimly lit apartment, her fingers traced my jaw as I pinned her against the wall, our tongues tangling like desperate animals. She moaned into my mouth, her hips griding against the bluge in my jeans. "Fuck, Zayan," she gasped, clawing at my shirt. I didn't hold back—my hands groped her tits, squeezing hard enough to make her whimper, before tearing off her abaya. Her body was a revelation: corves soft as sin, nipples pebbling under my tongue. I devoured her, leaving marks on her thighs as she arched and cried out.

We fucked raw that night. No condom. No regrets. Her pussy clenched around my cock like she'd been starving for it, and I filled her deep, painting her walls with cum as she screamed my name. "Don't stop—please", she begged, riding me until dawn, her tits bouncing wildly. I lost count of how many times I came inside her, each load thicker than the last.

The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and the sight of Amara bent over the kitchen counter, her ass bare and glowing in the sunlight. My cock twitched under the sheets. She glanced over her shoulder, catching me staring, and smirked. "Still hungry, dear?" The endearment dripped from her lips like honey—sweet and possessive.

I didn't answer. Instead, I crossed the room in three strides, gripping her hips and slamming her torso against the marble. Her breath hitched as I spread her thighs, my fingers sliding through her slick folds. "You're already wet", I growled, thrusting two fingers inside her. "Dreaming about my cock while you brewed your coffee?"

She moaned, pushing back against me. "Always."

I fucked her with my hand, rough and relentless, until her legs shook. When she came, biting her fist to muffle her screams, I dragger her on the floor, pinning her beneath me. "No more hiding," I said, sinking into her with a snarl. "This pussy's mine now".

The grocery store became our battlefield.

Amara pretended to browse produce while I crowded her against a shelf of mangos, my hand creeping under her shirt. Her breath quickened as my fingers found her clit. "Zayan, someone will see—"

"Let them." I circled faster, watching her cheeks flush. "You'll come right here, Professor. Or should I bend you over the frozen meats and ruin you in front of the cashier?"

She came with a stifled whimper, her nails digging into my wrist. Later, in the parking lot, she climbed into my lap in the driver's seat, riding me with reckless abandon, her hijab still perfectly in place. "You're a devil", she gasped, bouncing harder as I sucked bruises into her neck.

"And you're a greedy little saint," I muttered, flipping her into the dashboard. Her legs hooked over my shoulders as I ate her out, her thighs trembling around my ears. "Beg for it."

"Please—"

"Louder."

"Fuck me! Fuck me now!"

I obliged, pounding into her until the car rocked, her cries muffled by her own scarf.

By the time I bought her the house we'd graduated from desperation to ritual. Every room bore the marks of our hunger: her lipstick smeared on my laptop during Zoom meetings, my cum staining the silk drapes, her teeth marks on the headboard. She'd kneel at my feet while I worked, mouthing my cock until I dragged her onto the desk, files scattering as I split her open.

"Marry me", I demanded one night, pinning her wrists above her head as I thrust deeper. "Say yes."

She arched, her breasts heaving. "Yes—yes—"

I came inside her, as always, claiming what was already mine.

The day I gave Amara the keys to her new home, I carried her over the threshold like a bride. She giggled, her legs wrapped around my waist, her lips attacking my neck. "Put me down, Zayan!" she whispered, but her hands were already tearing at my belt.

I dropped her onto the polished kitchen counter. Her abaya rode up, revealing bare thighs. "No panties again?" I growled, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy glistened, already wet. "You've been thinking this all day, haven't you?"

She bit her lips, nodding. "I...I touched myself in the taxi here. Imagined your cock—"

I shoved two fingers into her, cutting off. "Dirty girl". Her hips bucked as I curled my fingers, hitting that spot that made her scram. "Cum for me. Now."

She exploded, juices soaking my hand. But I didn't stop. I ripped open my jeans, freed my throbbing cock, and slammed into her. The counter rattled as I fucked her raw, her breasts spilling out of her bra. "Harder!" she begged, scratching my back. "Breed me like the slut I am!"

Later, as I carried her to the bedroom, she whispered, "I want to own every room."

I did.

Amara loved risks. At a fancy restaurant, she "accidentally" spilled juice on her dress. In the restroom, I cornered her, lifting her onto the sink. Her dress bunched around her waist as I fucked her, her heels digging into my ass. "Quiet," I warned, covering her mouth as she moaned.

She came silently, her eyes rolling back.

In the cinema, during a horror movie, her hand slid into my lap. She stroked me under the blanket, then sank to her knees. The screen lit up her face as she swallowed my cock, gagging loudly. Teenagers nearby snorted, thinking it was part of the film.

Amara stopped taking birth control. "I want your baby inside me," she pleaded one night, riding me wildly. Her tits bounced as she ground down, taking me deeper. "Fill me up, Zayan. Make me yours forever."

I flipped her onto her stomach, shoved her face into the pillow, and pounded her until the bed cracked. "Take it all", I grunted, cumming so hard my vision blurred. She screamed, her nails ripping the sheets.

The next morning, she showed me the pregnancy test. Positive.

After graduation, we married in secret. That night, I tied her wrists to the headboard with her hijab. "Mine," I snarled, biting her nipples as she writhed.

"Yours," she agreed, spreading her legs.

I fucked her pregnant belly gently at first, the lost control. She came three times, squirting across the silk sheets. "More!" she demanded, even as dawn broke.

We didn't sleep. We couldn't.