He unbuckles his belt and shoves his jeans and underwear just low enough to free himself.
I don’t look away.
He’s cock is thick and long, the head flushed, a bead of arousal glinting at the tip. Hunger clenches deep in my belly.
I reach between us, fingers wrapping around him.
He draws in a sharp breath and nips at my lip. I stroke him once, twice, slow. Memorizing the heat, the weight, the silky skin over solid steel.
His hips jerk. His hands wrap around my wrists, firm but gentle.
"If you keep that up, this is going to end before it starts."
"Then don’t keep me waiting." My voice shakes with need.
He growls and reaches down, pushing my panties to the side. Cold air brushes my slick skin. He slides his thumb through the wetness and lifts it to his mouth to taste.
"Sweet," he murmurs, eyes burning with want.
He lines himself up, then presses in. Slow, steady, inch by inch.
My nails dig into his shoulders. My head tips back as he stretches me, fills me, makes me his.
It’s deep and thick and impossibly intimate.
I moan, low and long.
"You okay?" he asks, voice tight.
"More," I whisper. "Please."
He pulls back halfway, then thrusts in again. The sound we make together is shameless.
He sets a rhythm, slow but deep, each stroke sinking into me with purpose. My legs wrap tighter around his waist. Our bodies slide together. His chest rubs against mine. The table rocks beneath us. Flour dust rises in the air like smoke.
"You feel so good," he grunts. "So tight. So perfect. You were made for me."
The heat of his words spirals through me.
"You like that I’m younger?" I pant, needing to hear him claim it.
His thrusts grow harder. "I like that you’re you. Soft and sweet and untouched by the world’s ugly edges. I like that I get to teach you what it’s supposed to feel like. I like that you’re mine now."
Yes. Every word crashes through me like a wave.
He leans in, kissing me hard. His fingers slip between us, circling my clit. The pressure is perfect. The pleasure hits fast, bright and sharp and impossible to hold back.
I cry out, hips jerking, body shaking. My orgasm crashes through me like a flood.
I tighten around him and his rhythm stutters. He groans, low and guttural, then drives into me again. Once. Twice. Harder. Deeper.
His body locks. His face buries into my neck. I feel him come, heat pouring into me, each pulse echoing through my own aftershocks.
We collapse together, breathless and undone. His weight anchors me in the best way. I don’t want to move.
The air brushes our damp skin. The scent of cinnamon and sex wraps around us like steam.
My heart hammers.
