“Fuck,” I whispered.
I positioned myself over him, my heart pounding so loudly I could hear it in my ears. His hand stayed on my hip, guiding me, and when I finally lowered myself—when I felt his head pressing against me—I froze.
“Slow,” he said, his voice strained. “Take your time.”
I nodded, biting my lip, and then I sank.
Slowly.
Inch by inch.
The stretch was immediate. Intense. My mouth fell open, and a soft gasp escaped me.
“Fuck,” Kyrie groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. His grip on my hip tightened. “Just like that.”
I kept going. Kept lowering myself until I couldn't anymore. Until he was fully inside me. Until I was sitting on him, trembling, trying to adjust to the fullness.
“Oh, my God—” I breathed out, my hands bracing against his chest.
He didn't move. Didn't rush me. Just watched me with those grey, hooded eyes, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy.
“You good?” he asked, his voice rough.
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure. Even though I felt like I was about to fall apart.
“Move,” he said softly. “Slow.”
I did.
I lifted myself up just a little, then sank back down. The friction made my whole body shudder. Made my breath catch.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my eyes closing.
“Look at me,” Kyrie said, his voice commanding.
I opened my eyes, and his gaze locked onto mine.
“Don't look away,” he said. “I wanna see you.”
I nodded, my breath coming faster, and I moved again. Lifted. Sank. Lifted. Sank.
Each time, the feeling intensified. Each time, I felt him more deeply.
“That's it,” he murmured, his hand guiding my movements. “Just like that, ma.”
I started moving faster. Finding a rhythm. And the more I moved, the more I felt him, every inch, every angle, every shift.
My hands pressed harder against his chest, and I felt his heart pounding beneath my palms. Felt the way his breathing changed. The way his body tensed.
“Kyrie—” I gasped, my head falling forward.
“Keep going,” he said, his voice strained. “Don't stop.”
I didn't.
I kept moving, kept riding him, and the feeling building low in my stomach was already threatening to break me again.
“Kyrie—” I said, slowing down. “Are you?—”
