When his mouth closed over my nipple, I arched off the silk with a cry that echoed off the marble walls. The sensation was electric, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, and when he began to suck and bite with just enough pressure to make me see stars, I could feel my cock beginning to harden again despite my recent release.
"Sensitive," he observed with obvious satisfaction, moving to lavish the same attention on my other nipple. "I'll remember that."
The dual promise and threat in his voice made me shudder with anticipation. He continued his downward journey, lips pressing kisses to my ribs, my stomach, the sharp line of my hipbones. Each touch was deliberate torture, bringing him closer to where I needed him most while maintaining a pace that had me writhing with frustrated desire.
When he finally reached the nest of dark hair atthe base of my cock, I was already fully hard again, my body betraying just how much his careful attention affected me. He paused there, breath ghosting over my sensitized skin, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.
"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice rough with his own renewed arousal.
"Your mouth," I gasped without hesitation. "Please, I need your mouth on me."
"Good," he purred, and then his lips were wrapping around the head of my cock with a heat that made my vision blur.
The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat and suction and the incredible sight of this beautiful, powerful man pleasuring me with obvious enjoyment. He took me deeper with each movement, his technique skilled and confident, and I could feel myself rapidly approaching the edge once again.
But just as I was about to fall over into bliss, he pulled away, leaving me gasping and desperate on the silk.
"Not yet," he said firmly, ignoring my whimper of protest. "You don't come again until I'm inside you."
The words hit me like lightning, sending shockwaves of need through every nerve ending. The thought of being taken by him, of being filled and claimed in the most intimate way possible, made me dizzy with want.
"Yes," I breathed, spreading my legs wider in invitation. "Please, Kaelen. I need you inside me."
His eyes flashed with primitive satisfaction at my surrender. "Have you ever...?"
I shook my head, heat flooding my cheeks. "No. Never."
Something fierce and possessive crossed his features—the knowledge that he would be my first, that this joining would mark me as his in a way that could never be undone.
"I'll be careful," he promised, reaching for a small vial of oil that had been left among the ceremonial items. "I'll make it good for you."
The oil was warm when he poured it over his fingers, warmed by the same sacred stones that heated the altar beneath us. When he reached between my legs to begin his preparation, his touch was gentle but thorough, one finger working carefully inside me until I relaxed around the intrusion.
The sensation was strange at first—foreign and overwhelming—but as he worked deeper, finding places inside me that made me gasp with unexpected pleasure, I began to understand why people spoke of this act with such reverence.
"More," I pleaded when he began to work a second finger alongside the first, stretching me carefully while maintaining that maddening pressure against something inside me that made stars explode behind my eyes.
"Patience," he murmured, though his own voice was strained with the effort of holding back. "I won't hurt you, not tonight."
He took his time opening me, working me withfingers slick with oil until I was writhing beneath him, begging for more in words that grew increasingly incoherent. Only when he was certain I was ready did he withdraw his hand and position himself between my spread thighs.
The head of his cock, slick with oil and still flushed from my earlier worship, pressed against my entrance with tantalizing pressure. For a moment we both stilled, poised on the edge of irrevocable change.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, and I met his gaze with effort, my vision hazy with desire. "I want to see your face when I claim you."
Then he began to push forward, slow and inexorable, and the stretch and burn of being filled for the first time stole the breath from my lungs. It was intense beyond description—not quite pain but more than mere pressure, my body struggling to accommodate his size even with the careful preparation.
But his eyes never left mine, storm-grey depths filled with such tender concern that I felt cherished even in the midst of the overwhelming sensation. When I tensed against the intrusion, he stilled immediately, allowing me time to adjust.
"Breathe," he whispered, one hand smoothing over my chest in soothing circles. "Just breathe through it."
I followed his guidance, forcing myself to relax as he continued his careful advance. Inch by inch, he filled me completely, and with each fraction of movement the sensation transformed from uncomfortable to intense to something approaching divine.
When he was finally seated fully inside me, bothof us breathing hard from the effort of restraint, I felt complete in a way I'd never experienced before. Not just physically joined, but spiritually merged, two souls becoming one in the most sacred way possible.
"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice rough with barely controlled desire.
"Perfect," I gasped, and meant it completely. "Absolutely perfect."
