I nodded toward the bedside table, where I'd placed a condom from my toiletry bag in a moment of hopeful preparation.
He reached for it, tearing the packet open with his teeth in a gesture so casually masculine that it sent another pulse of desire through me.
When he settled between my thighs, his weight braced on his forearms, I had a moment of clarity—a brief flash of recognition that this was madness, taking a stranger to my bed, giving my body to someone whose name I didn't know.
Then he entered me in one smooth thrust, and thought became impossible.
"Oh," I gasped, the sensation of fullness overwhelming.
He stilled, watching my face. "Okay?"
I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him closer, deeper. "Don't stop."
He began to move, setting a rhythm that had me clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into skin.
Each thrust built on the pleasure still lingering from before, climbing toward something that felt dangerously close to transcendent.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice strained with his own control as his gaze moved between my face and where our bodies connected.
"So beautiful taking my cock like this."
Something about the raw intensity in his voice broke through my careful walls.
Tears pricked at my eyes—not from pain, but from the strange, overwhelming intimacy of being truly seen.
He noticed, because, of course, he did. Nothing escaped those intense blue eyes.
"What is it?" he asked, slowing his movements.
"Don't stop," I repeated, urging him on with my body.
"It's just—no one's ever looked at me like you do."
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the power of his body moving within mine. "How do I look at you?"
"Like I'm real," I whispered.
"Like I matter."
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or something darker.
Hunger.
Possession.
And then he kissed me—deep, consuming—his tongue stroking into my mouth with a slow, deliberate heat that matched the rhythm of his hips as he began to move faster, harder.
One hand slid between us, his fingers finding the slick, aching center of me while teasing my clit, stroking with unerring accuracy. He circled my clit in slow, devastating strokes, never missing a beat inside me.
“You do matter,” he said against my lips.
“Right now, you’re all that matters. Let me show you.”
He slid out from between my thighs and flipped me onto my stomach, pulling me to my knees.
Seconds later, I felt his erection teasing my swollen folds with the head of his cock, slipping in just an inch before pulling back out.
With one hand, he played with my nipple, pinching and rolling it between his finger and thumb. He continued to teaseme, sliding his erection into my pussy only to pull back out, over and over. He whispered dirty things in my ear, telling me how hard I made his dick, what a good girl I was, and how he’d wanted this since he saw me at the bar.
