"On the bed," he says. "On your back."
I obey, sliding back on the mattress, and the act of obeying makes heat pool low in my belly. Not because I'm giving up control—because I'm choosing to give it.
He stands, and I watch him strip. No hesitation, no performance—just efficient movements that reveal inch after inch of hard muscle and ink-marked skin. When he shoves his jeans down his hips, my breath catches. He's thick and hard, already straining toward me, and I feel an answering clench between my thighs.
He climbs onto the bed, settling over me, bracing himself on his forearms. The weight of him presses me into the mattress, and I feel surrounded without being trapped. Safe. Wanted.
"I'm going to make you feel good," he says against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. "And you're going to let me. You're going to lie here and take what I give you and not worry about anything except how it feels. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Good girl."
The praise sends a shiver straight to my core. He kisses me again, deep and filthy, his tongue stroking mine while his hand travels down my body. Over my breast, pausing to pinch my nipple until I gasp into his mouth. Down my ribs, my stomach, my hip. By the time his fingers brush the inside of my thigh, I'm shaking.
"Spread your legs for me."
I do, and he rewards me with a low groan of approval. His fingers slide through my folds, slick and swollen, and I can't hold back the moan.
"Fuck, you're soaked." His voice is rough, almost reverent. "All this for me?"
"Yes." It comes out like a plea. "Just for you."
He strokes me with patient expertise, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me writhe. When his thumb finds my clit and circles it slowly, I cry out. When he slides one finger inside me, curling it just right, my hips buck off the bed. When he adds a second finger, stretching me, I grab fistfuls of the sheets and hold on.
"Eyes on me," he commands, and I force my gaze to meet his. "I want to watch you come."
I've never maintained eye contact during something like this before. Craig preferred me looking away, preferred not to see what was happening to me. But Will's eyes are dark and intense, fixed on my face with an attention that makes me feel like the center of the universe.
His fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. His thumb keeps circling, relentless and precise. The pleasure builds and builds until I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel.
"Come for me," he says. "Now."
I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me in waves, my whole body shaking with the force of it, and through it all hiseyes never leave mine. He works me through it, gentling his touch as the tremors fade, and when I finally go limp beneath him, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
"That's my girl. That's so good."
I'm floating, boneless and warm, but he's not done. I can feel him hard against my thigh, thick and insistent, and anticipation cuts through the haze.
"Still with me?" he asks.
"Yes. Please. I want—" I struggle to find words. "I want you inside me."
He positions himself at my entrance, the broad head of him pressing against me, and pauses. His jaw is tight, the muscles in his arms straining with the effort of holding back. He's giving me one last chance to change my mind.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer.
He pushes into me slowly, inch by inch, and I gasp at the stretch. He's thick, filling me completely, and my body clenches around him as it adjusts. When he's fully seated, he stills, his breath ragged against my neck.
"Fuck." The word comes out broken. "You feel—" He doesn't finish. Can't, maybe.
I feel tears prick my eyes. Not pain. The opposite. The feeling of finally being filled by someone who wants to be there. Someone who's shaking with the effort of not taking what he wants until he's sure I'm ready.
"Move," I whisper. "Please."
He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, then drives forward in one smooth thrust that makes me cry out. He sets a rhythm—long, deep strokes that drag against every nerve ending, that hit a spot inside me that makes my vision blur. His hand grips my thigh, hitching my leg higher, changing the angle, and I nearly scream.
"Right there?" He does it again, harder, and I can only nod. "Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me every time I hit it."
