How many hours had you been there? Two? Three? Bruce showed no signs of stopping—his hips moving relentlessly, his gruff words never ceasing as he pushed you further and further past your limits. The cool air conditioning hummed above, doing little to ease the heat between your bodies as Wayne's muscular frame loomed over you.

He was your sugar daddy, a man drowning in pent-up stress. His corporate responsibilities combined with the weight of his secret life as Batman kept him teetering on the edge of exhaustion. Relaxation was a luxury he couldn't afford—at least, not until he had you beneath him.

Scattered across the sheets beneath you were crisp dollar bills, a small fortune in exchange for the night spent taking everything he had to give. But it wasn't just about money. Not really. Not when his piercing blue eyes stayed locked onto yours, raw and burning with something almost insatiable as he continued thrusting despite already spilling multiple loads deep inside you.

"You can be my good boy and take just a little more, can't you?" Bruce rasped, voice thick with desire. His lips curled into a husky smirk as he pulled back, dragging his length out slowly—only to press the flushed, cum-slick tip against your sensitive clit, rubbing it teasingly.

"Use your words, handsome..." He murmured, waiting—daring you to respond. "Can you handle another round?"