“I want you to fuck me.” There. Said it. No taking it back now.
He groans and pulls me down onto him in one smooth motion.
The stretch is intense. His size even more pronounced in this position, and in the confined space of the tub, I’m pressed completely against him, with nowhere else to go, no room to adjust.
I can only brace my hands on his shoulders while my body adjusts.
“Jesus,” he grits out. “You feel incredible like this.”
I try to move, to establish some kind of rhythm, but his hands on my hips stop me.
“Slow,” he commands. “I want to feel every fuckinginchof you.”
Every.
Inch.
So we move slowly.
Torturously slowly.
Water finally sloshes over the edge of the tub with each roll of my hips, pooling on the tile floor, and I can feel every single ridge and vein of his cock inside me.
It’s overwhelming.
It’s perfect.
It’s driving me absolutely insane.
When I try to speed up again, chasing the orgasm building low in my belly, he stops me completely.
Just holds me there, impaled on him, not letting me move.
“Gregory--” It comes out as a whine.
“Patience.” But his jaw is clenched, his neck cording. He’s barely holding back himself. “Good girl, being patient for me.”
Oh fuck.
He said “good girl.”
Mayday mayday.
Finally he begins rutting against me. Harder and harder. Faster and faster.
“Gregory Gregory Gregory,” I recite in time to each thrust.
He’s jackhammering me now.
“GREGORY!” I scream.
And I’m about to cum, but then he stops a second time.
I nearly sob.
His fingers dig into my hips like steel clamps as he holds me suspended there, stretched impossibly around him. I can feel every pulsing vein along his length, and the way my inner walls flutter desperately around his shaft.
Water sloshes violently as my thighs tremble, and I realize I’m chanting “Please, please, please” against the slick skin of his collarbone.
