Pleasure rips through me in a wave so violent I cry out his name, my whole body jerking. Something deep breaks open, and I feel the rush—wet, warm, unstoppable.
I squirt.
It’s not graceful. It’s not quiet. It’s messy and wild.
Alaric pulls back just enough to watch it happen. I see the way his eyes widen with something like pride.
“Well,” he mutters with a dark laugh, staring straight at my trembling, soaked pussy. “Look at that.”
His hand strokes up my thigh, then gently cups between my legs, feeling the aftermath.
“You and I,” he says, smiling at my pussy like he just won a bet, “are going to be very good friends.”
He leans in, presses one last soft kiss to my inner thigh, then stands.
His hands go to his belt.
I lie there panting, legs still twitching from aftershocks, as he unfastens his pants, the zipper dragging down with deliberate slowness. Then his boxers.
His cock springs free.
He watches my face as I take him in, all of him. That same cock I’ve had in my mouth. The one that wrecked me once in a hotel room and has haunted my fantasies ever since.
He strokes himself slowly from base to tip, and I see his jaw flex like he’s trying to keep it together. His eyes roam over me likehe’s memorizing the way I look, wrecked for him. I’m breathing hard, and he hasn’t even touched me again.
He steps between my legs. “Ready for more?” he asks, voice low, rough.
I nod, throat too tight to speak.
He leans down, one hand braced beside my head, the other guiding his cock to my entrance. The first touch is almost too much. I’m still sensitive, soaked, stretched from his fingers and his mouth, but not enough for this.
I feel the blunt head of him nudge against me.
He watches my face, waiting for that first flicker of tension, the slight hitch in my breath.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
And then he pushes in.
I cry out as he fills me, inch by inch. It’s not pain. It’s too much and just right at the same time. Stretching me wide, making me feel every bit of him.
He groans deep in his chest as he sinks all the way inside.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to mine.
I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can only hold on, fingers digging into his back, as he starts to move.
Long, slow thrusts at first, grinding into me like he wants to press his cock into my soul. His hands find my wrists andpin them above my head, holding me down while his hips roll against mine.
I arch into him, greedy for more. Needy in a way that burns.
And he gives it.
Again. And again.
Each time making me forget every reason I ever had to run from him.
