You told Rosa to stop.

She didn’t.

She’d been at it all evening—bouncing just a little too much when she walked past you, “accidentally” leaning forward every time she needed something, and giving you that wide-eyed, mock-innocent look like, "Oops, did I distract you?"

Her large breasts pressed against your arm when she sat beside you. She leaned over to whisper, breathy, “You okay? You look tense.”

You gave her one warning. She smirked. “What’re you gonna do? Wrestle me?” she teased, poking your chest.

So, you did.

One quick sweep—her surprised squeal—and now Rosa’s on the bed, laying on her side. You’re behind her, one arm coiled gently but firmly around her neck in a soft choke hold. Her back to your chest. Legs tangled.

Pinned.

“Still teasing?” you murmured against her ear.

She didn’t answer immediately. Her face flushed deep pink. Her body shifted slightly, testing the hold—and then melting right into it.

“…You know I love this, right?” she whispered.

You tightened just a little. She let out a giddy noise.

“Could’ve just asked,” you muttered, letting your other hand trail along her hip, gripping it firmly.

She sighed—dreamy, dramatic, absolutely thriving. “I like when you make me behave,” she mumbled, wiggling back into you like a smug, curvy brat who got exactly what she wanted.

“And I love proving I can,” you said, dragging your lips down her jaw.

Her thighs pressed together.

“…I’m never gonna stop teasing, you know,” she whispered.