He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head.
“I seem to remember you liked this.”
“Harder,” I whisper, echoing our first tease. But this time, it’s real.
He looks into my eyes. "Tell me to stop."
“I won’t.”
He presses in—slowly, deliberately—stretching me open inch by thick inch.
I gasp. “Oh my god?—”
He stills. “You okay?”
“Don’t stop,” I pant. “Please don’t stop.”
He moves. Slow at first, like he’s savoring every second. His eyes are locked on mine, and there’s so much emotion there it almost breaks me.
Then he starts to fuck me.
Hard. Deep. Brutal in the best way.
My arms fall free when he lets go, and I grab at him—his back, his shoulders, anywhere I can hold on. He lifts up onto his knees, dragging me toward the edge of the bed and slamming into me.
Pain and pleasure blur. I claw at my breasts, pinch my nipples, moan his name over and over.
He leans back over me, grinding his pelvis into mine with every thrust. My clit is crushed beneath the weight of his body and Ican’t stop coming. It’s too much.
My entire body locks up—tight, trembling—as my orgasm rips through me. He growls and slams into me harder.
I feel him throb. Pulse. Fill me.
We collapse, tangled and gasping.
He buries his face in my neck, and I hold him tighter, our skin sticky, our breaths shared.
Minutes pass.
He pulls away just enough to kiss me again—gentler now. Then he slips out of bed and disappears into the bathroom.
When he returns with a warm cloth, I don’t move. I let him clean me—between my thighs, across my stomach. Then he tosses the cloth and stands at the edge of the bed, hesitating.
I slide over.
Without a word, he climbs in next to me.
We lie there, quiet, staring at the ceiling. But the silence is different now.
He turns toward me.
I turn toward him.
I smile.
He lifts his arm.
I curl into him, cheek on his chest, heart full.
