“Then I’ll make sure you do.”
I hear the snap of foil, and then he’s rolling a condom over his length, his jaw clenched tight, his muscles coiled with restraint.
He kneels on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, his body taut with tension. The glow of the bedside lamp casts sharp lines over his muscles, his abdomen flexing as he shifts forward, settling between my legs. The warmth of his skin sinks into mine as he drags his hands down my thighs, spreading them wider, his gaze locked onto me like I’m the only thing that exists in this moment.
A slow, shuddering exhale leaves him as he grips himself, running the thick head of his cock through the slick heat of my entrance, teasing, testing, dragging it over my clit just to watch me squirm. My breath catches, anticipation buzzing beneath my skin, winding me tighter, making me ache. Then, he leans over me, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath heavy, his hands framing my face.
“I need you to relax, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me in.”
I nod, my body thrumming with anticipation.
He groans, low and rough, as he presses forward, the stretch pulling a gasp from my lips. My nails sink into his shoulders, clinging to the solid heat of him as he pushes deeper, inch by inch, until he’s seated fully inside me.
Oh, God.
Oh, fuck.
He’s so fucking big.
I tense slightly, and he notices immediately.
His lips brush over my jaw. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he soothes. “I’ve got you.”
I exhale shakily, forcing myself to relax, to open for him. Then he pushes in.
The fullness steals my breath, the way he fits, the way he feels—like he was made for this, for me. My mind goes blank—the only thing left is the overwhelming sensation of him, the way he presses so deep, so perfect.
He stills for a second, like he’s savoring it, like he’s struggling against the raw, pulsing need to move. Then he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath ragged, his hands framing my face as he whispers, “Mine. You’re mine, Nys.”
My breath catches, my body trembling beneath him, my fingers clutching at his shoulders.
He stills, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Jesus, Nysa,” he grits out. “You’re so fucking tight.”
He groans, low and deep, the sound vibrating through his chest as he holds himself still, letting me adjust. My body clenches around him, pulsing, stretching to accommodate the thick, aching fullness of him. I whimper, my breath stuttering as sensation overwhelms me, a sharp edge of too much, too good.
His hands are everywhere—cradling my face, smoothing down my sides, grounding me. He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, his lips warm, his breath soft as he whispers, “I’ve got you.”
Another kiss—my temple, then my cheek, the side of my mouth—each touch melting something inside me, unraveling the tension in my limbs. His fingers trace soothing circles along my hip, his nose brushing against my jaw as he waits, patient, controlled, letting me take what I need.
I exhale, my body loosening, opening for him, the sting fading into a delicious, spreading heat.
And then, inch by inch, he pushes deeper.
My lashes flutter, my lips parting as he fills me completely, the pressure turning into something potent, something devastatingly good. A shudder rolls through him, his forehead dropping to mine, his body trembling with restraint.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his voice raw, reverent. “You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”
I barely have time to catch my breath before he rolls his hips, the first slow drag of him leaving me gasping, clinging to him as pleasure coils deep and tight. I suck in a sharp breath, my nails digging into his skin as he fills me completely, stretching me to the limit, making me feel every inch of him.
Oh, my God.
He’s everywhere.
I feel full, wrecked, consumed.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel him. His forehead presses against mine, his breath hot against my lips.
