I slide one finger inside her, and my eyes practically roll back in my head. Having experienced her tightness once before, it’s a whole new experience knowing my cock will replace my fingers soon enough. My grip on my own length tightens, a desperate measure to keep myself from burying myself deep too early.
This has to be an experience for both of us.
“Your finger is big enough as it is,” she moans, her voice dazed, so innocently given that it makes me throb.
She lifts her hips, rocking against the intrusion, taking me deeper, and I see stars.
“That’s it, sweetness. Just like that,” I groan against her thigh, the pet name permanent. When I add a second finger, she whimpers, a sound of stretch and pleasure all mixed together. “It’ll be easy. You’re so wet as it is, sucking them in. Look,” I command, my voice ragged, needing her to see it, to understand what she does to me.
Her hazy eyes flutter open, looking down to where my glistening fingers are buried inside her.
The sight of my thick, calloused fingers slick with her essence is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. I push a third finger in, an impressive stretch that leaves us both moaning in unison. The feel of her accommodating me, the tight, silken clutch of her body, is a promise of heaven.
I tighten my grip on my cock until it’s almost painful. I can’t come. Not yet. The mantra beats in time with my pounding heart. This isn’t about a quick release. This is about making her mine.
Pulling away entirely, I don’t regret making her whine in displeasure. Rather, I think it’s a turn on in itself.
The sight of my glistening fingers, slick and shining with her essence, steals the air from my lungs. It’s a beautiful sight. My control, already hanging by a thread, frays completely. I can’t just look. I need to feel it.
I reach down, my gaze locked with her hazy one, and I spread her arousal across my cock. The contact brings a low, guttural moan tearing from my throat. Soon, I’ll be buried in it. Just need to be a little more patient.
To suddenly want something this bad with such intensity is almost laughable. Thiswoman.
I guide myself to her, my tip nudging against her soaked slit. A shudder wracks my entire frame. I rock against her, once, twice, coating myself in her, the friction a sweet, torturous preview. Every nerve ending is on fire, screaming for me to just push, to bury myself to the hilt and lose myself in her.
But this is different. This isn’t just fucking. This is Destiny.
I guide my tip to her entrance, the head pressing against that incredible tightness. Her breath hitches, her nails digging into the blankets beneath us. Her eyes are wide, a little scared, completely trusting. And that trust undoes me more than any touch ever could.
I still, holding myself there, at the precipice. “No matter what you decide about this place,” I grind out, my hips trembling with the effort to stay still, “my heart is already yours. It’s yours, Destiny.”
The words are a key, unlocking the last of her resistance. I see it in the softening of her eyes, in the way her body relaxes beneath mine, opening for me.
I push.
Sinking into her feels like a slow, inexorable invasion. She is a furnace, tight and perfect, and the sensation of pushing past her barrier, of being sheathed inside her, is a blinding, white-hot pleasure.
I stop when she groans, fully buried, my forehead dropping to hers. Our breaths mingle, ragged and shared. I give her a moment, let her adjust to the feel of me stretching her, filling her.
“Okay?” I rasp.
She answers with a moan, a soft, breathy sound that goes straight to my soul. Her hips shift, a tiny, experimental rock, and it’s all the permission I need when her pussy quivers in return.
I start to move, a slow, deep rhythm. Each withdrawal is agony, each thrust back in is a homecoming. Her moans become a steady rhythm, a music that drives me, her body arching to meet mine. The fear is gone, replaced by a dazed, desperate pleasure. Her nails find my back, scoring my skin, marking me as hers. The sharp sting is a counterpoint to the overwhelming softness inside her, and I’ve never felt closer to my limit.
Capturing her next moan with my mouth, kissing her deeply, I give her everything. My control, my fear, my past—it all bleeds out, leaving only this, only her. This is more than sex. It’s a surrender. I am giving myself to her, entirely, holding nothing back.
The pace builds, our bodies finding a frantic, perfect sync. The room fills with the sounds of our union—skin against skin, our ragged breaths, her sweet cries. I feel her beginning to tighten around me, her inner muscles fluttering, gripping me like a fist.
“I’m… Hammer…” she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut.
“That’s it, sweetness. Come for me,” I growl, driving into her harder, deeper, chasing my own peak that’s roaring up my spine. She’s gripping me so good, so perfect, milking me, pulling the climax from my very core.
With a sharp cry, she comes undone, her body convulsing around mine. The sensation leaves me falling. A groan is ripped from my chest. I bury myself to the hilt one last time, as deep as I can possibly go, and pump my release into her. My world narrows to her hot, clenching depths and the trusting weight of her in my arms.
I collapse over her, spent, my body shuddering with the aftershocks. I don’t pull out, not yet. I can’t. I just hold her, my face buried in her hair, our hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other.
Once we’ve calmed, I have to convince myself to pull out. Can’t stay inside forever. Before I can move off of her, she’s wrapping her arms around my neck.
