“Come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice like warm velvet. “Come ride my fat cock.”
The words punch the breath right out of me.
I plant my feet on the floor, straddling him again, arms wrapped around his shoulders, forehead pressed to his.
He fists the base of his dick, steady and patient. “You ready for me?”
I nod, dazed. “Always.”
The crown of him presses to my hole, and I let gravity guide me down. We groan in unison as his thick head pops inside, my whole body stretching around him.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe. “So big.”
“Taking me so well,” he praises, voice tight. “Just like you’re made for me.”
Once I’m fully seated, balls to skin, I rock my hips—grinding in his lap, feeling him everywhere. He holds me steady, hands gripping my hips, thrusting up in sync with every roll of my body.
It’s a rhythm. A prayer. Our eyes locked, our mouths parted, our souls—entwined.
“Feels so good, baby,” Dante murmurs, cupping my face as he drives up into me. “I love you. God, I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” I pant, riding him harder now. “But I need more. Need it rough. Need to feel you lose control.”
His lips curve into something dark and reverent.
And then he gives it to me.
He shifts me again, lifting me like I weigh nothing, repositioning me in front of him on all fours.
“Give me this ass, Lucciolina,” he growls. “I need to fuck you hard.”
My cock twitches. “Fuck,” I groan. “Yes. Do it.”
“Knees together. Ass out,” he commands.
I obey instantly, and he slides back in with a low, guttural moan.
This angle—Jesus. I see stars. My forehead drops to the pillow, my spine arching as he pounds into me like a man possessed.
Each thrust slams pleasure into me so deep I forget where I end, and he begins. My hands scrabble for purchase. His grip bruises my hips.
It’s the fuck of my life.
But he’s not done.
He pulls me upright again, settling me back against his chest, his cock never slipping free. His thighs bracket mine—thick and solid. His rhythm changes—deeper now, more controlled.
One arm wraps around my waist, his fist closing around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The other hand rolls over my nipple, pinching, teasing—then moves up to my throat.
“Fuck, Grant,” he pants. “Kiss me. I need to taste you.”
I twist my head, meeting his mouth with mine—messy, desperate, perfect.
He moans into my lips, cock slamming up into me as he murmurs, “Arch that back for me, baby. I want to be so deep inside you.”
I do.
“Watch how good I fuck you, bug,” he groans, voice thick. “How we’re made to fit together.”
