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Could be a question, but I didn’t take it as one.
“I do,” I say, and my heart flutters in my chest.
He nods, once, slowly. Giving me a chance to back out. I’m not.
The wrapper falls. He’s over me again. My legs are on each side of him. He’s wedged between but not close. His dick looks so hard that it seems painful. Both of our chests are heaving. Our hearts are pumping hard. It’s like I can hear his, and he can hear mine.
His hand slides between my legs, caressing the spot that feels like it has a pulse. I close my eyes, those emotional weights never so heavy.
This is it.
I’m about to give him something I can never take back. It’ll be his. It’ll become a part of that shadow that will forever follow us around.
My heart…feels good. I will never regret this.
He says something in Italian. He says something in Armenian. I’ve heard it spoken in his house before.
“You were made for me,” he says, his voice almost hoarse. He stops touching me. He takes a deep breath.
Key to lock. The words are clear between us, but neither of us says them. The moment is nothing but expectation of what’s coming next. I feel the heat of his body as he moves in closer. As his dick takes the place of his hand.
“We fit. Everything about us. Fits.” Then he slides inside of me, and we both make noises that seem to shake the walls.
My hands find his back as he pushes even deeper. Deeper. There’s a sharp pain, but more like pressure. He’s stretching me, and I’m not sure if I can take it. I’m not ready, but the pulse…it’s begging for it. He seems to know. He seems to know my body better than I do now.
“We fit in all ways,” he says, his voice husky in my ear. He positions us differently, so I’m sort of angled toward him. “This was made to be.”
We kiss. We kiss deeper than ever before. I cry into his mouth as he pushes even deeper. He’s all the way in. And the pressure is…it’s so filling that it’s hard to think past it. Pleasure. Pain. He’s pressing on a spot that makes me arch toward him.
“Oh God,” I plead.
He’s moving.
He’s causing friction that’s building.
It’s moving past the pain.
It’s nothing but pleasure.
He’s hitting one spot.
That spot is shrinking my world again, but this time, he’s in it with me. Our pleasure is so connected that the only way to sever it is for him to stop.
“Don’t,” I say, not meaning to. “Please don’t stop. Oh God.”
“I couldn’t even if I tried.” Every word is labored. He groans deep in his throat. The timbre of it echoes through his chest. “I’m in too deep.”
I don’t think he’s talking about the sex.
My body is sweating. So is his. We’re sliding. We’re grunting and whimpering. We’re slapping but caressing. We’re kissing again. We’re trying to breathe.
We’re one.
My body can’t take any more. It feels too good, and the pressure closes in. I’m about to freefall again. This time, I’m not alone. He starts to slam into me, his muscles straining as he comes inside of me, and my body feels like it shatters from the inside out.
We come down from the high together. He sets his forehead against mine, and our breaths mingle.
“So perfect,” he whispers against my lips. “So fucking perfect. My Lucila.”
