He pulls back immediately, his expression concerned. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”
“No,” I say, reaching for him. “Not hurt. Just sensitive.” I pull him up for a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. The intimacy of it, the rawness, makes my stomach flip. “I want you. Inside me. Now.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Relief, maybe, or wonder. Then his expression settles into focused heat. “Are you sure? We can wait, if you need?—”
“I’m sure,” I say, meaning it completely. “I want you. I’ve been thinking about this. About you. For weeks.”
He nods and reaches for the nightstand where he pulls out a strip of condoms from the drawer. I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls one down his length. His hand moving with surprising dexterity, his eyes never leaving mine. When he’s done, hepositions himself between my legs, the head of his cock just brushing my entrance.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “We can stop anytime.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he begins to push forward. Slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is intense. Not quite pain but adjacent to it, a burning pressure that makes my breath catch in my throat. He freezes immediately.
“We can stop,” he says again. “We don’t have to?—”
“No,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. “Don’t stop. Just go slow. Please.”
He nods, his hand coming up to cradle my face. “Like this,” he says, and begins to move again. Infinitesimally slowly, each millimeter of progress followed by a pause to let me adjust. It’s excruciating and perfect and exactly what I need. His careful attention, his complete focus on my comfort, his willingness to stop if I ask.
The stretch gradually shifts from burning to fullness, from pressure to pleasure. My body adjusting, accommodating, welcoming him deeper. When he’s about halfway in, he pauses, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.
“You feel incredible,” he says, his voice strained. “So tight. So perfect.”
“More,” I say, surprising myself. “I can take more.”
He groans, the sound vibrating through both of us, and pushes deeper. Inch by careful inch until finally, finally, he’s fully seated. His hips against mine, and the feeling is overwhelming. Full in a way I’ve never experienced, stretched around his length, every nerve ending alight with sensation. We’re both breathing hard, his forehead against mine, his hand still gently cradling my face.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint.
“I’m good,” I say, meaning it completely. “More than good. Please move.” I roll my hips to emphasize my words.
He swallows a groan and begins to pull back. Just slightly, just enough to create the friction my body is craving. Then he pushes forward again. The movement sends a shock of pleasure through my system, my back arching off the bed, his name in my mouth before I can stop it.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice a rumble against my chest. “Take me. So perfect around me.”
The praise sends another wave of heat through me. My body responds to his words as much as his movements. He builds a rhythm. Slow at first, careful, giving me time to adjust. Then faster as my hips begin to meet his, as my hands find his shoulders and hold on.
He’s everywhere. His chest against mine, his mouth on my neck, his cock hitting places inside me that make my vision blur. And still it’s not enough, still I want more, want everything, want him deeper, harder, forever.
“More,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Tovek, I need more.”
“Tell me,” he says against my ear. “What do you need?”
“Harder,” I manage. “Faster. I want to feel you everywhere.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Then his expression settles into focused heat. “You’re sure?”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he changes position. Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders, changing the angle so that each thrust hits directly against that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. The new position takes him deeper, the stretch more intense, the pleasure building at the base of my spine with each thrust.
“Fuck,” I gasp, digging my fingers into the bed. Clutching at anything to ground me. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
“Not stopping,” he says, his voice rough. “Never stopping. You feel too good. So perfect around me.”
He builds a rhythm. Still careful despite my request for harder, faster. Each thrust measured, his complete focus on my reactions, on the sounds I make, on the way my body moves under his hands. The heat builds at the base of my spine, my second orgasm already approaching, my body tightening around him.
“I’m close,” I manage. “Tovek, please?—”
“Come for me, Chef,” he says against my ear, and the words push me over the edge.
