Every slow push steals the air from my lungs, stretching me open in ways that make my body and soul short-circuit.
It's too much and not enough all at once, a slow burn that feels like he's carving his name inside me, claiming every inch with reverence and fire.
I clutch at his shoulders, half afraid I'll shatter if he moves another inch, half terrified he'll stop.
My pulse is everywhere—behind my eyes, between my legs, in the tremor of my breath.
It's dizzying, the way he fits, like we were always meant to lock together this way and the universe had just been holding its breath, waiting for this exact moment to happen.
I could see the strain in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip he keep on my waist, the way his eyes went glassy and wild as my body welcomes him deeper.
The pain ebb, replace by a hot, pulsing fullness.
When our eyes meet, the air between us turns molten. His gaze burns with hunger, but there's something else there too—something that makes my chest tighten. Love. Devotion. A kind of awe that nearly undoes me.
We both laugh, hoarse and breathless, our foreheads brushing. It's a ridiculous, beautiful sound—half relief, half disbelief that this is real.
Then Zach dips his head and claims my mouth again, kissing me like he's starving for me, like he'll never get enough.
I feel stretched to the limit, impossibly invaded, and yet the sensation is intoxicating—a dizzy, heady cocktail of pleasure and triumph. I smile up at him, part delirious, part victorious, and he laughs softly, forehead falling to rest against mine.
"You're incredible," he murmurs, voice strained, as he pushes in slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the feeling.
I gasp, the sound torn from somewhere deep in my chest, and for a moment neither of us move, both trembling under the weight of what we've just done.
"So are you," I whisper.
Then he starts to move—slowly at first, in shallow, reverent thrusts, as if he was afraid I might break.
Each drag and retreat kindle new sparks inside me, the sting giving way to something wetter and sweeter, my body feverishly adjusting around him.
My hands slide up his back, into the sweat-damp hair at his nape, needing to anchor myself to something real in this liquid, melting world.
He set a rhythm, gentle but insistent, the mattress beneath us creaking in time with our bodies. The pain is gone now, replace by a deep, rolling pleasure that built with every stroke.
I feel myself unraveling, each moan and whimper coax from my lips by the relentless pressure, the way his body fit mine so perfectly it was almost beyond belief.
Sweat slick our skin, our bodies slipping together in a frantic, tangled knot.
Zach's mouth is everywhere—my throat, my collarbone, the soft slope of my shoulder—sucking bruises as if intent on marking me as his in all the ways that matter.
He whispers my name over and over, voice thick with awe, like he can't believe I am real.
"I'm not gonna last, I—fuck, you're so tight, I—"
I press a hand to his cheek, my thumb brushing at the corner of his mouth. "It's okay. It's okay..."
The heat builds steadily, then all at once, like a hurricane gathering on the horizon. I can feel myself tightening, the pleasure stretching to the point of breaking, and I cling to Zach as if he's the only thing tethering me to the earth.
He thrusts harder, faster, his careful restraint unraveling as we both near the edge. His face contorts with raw, primal desire.
His eyes darken to a stormy gray, his eyebrows furrow in concentration.
A sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, his cheeks flushed red with exertion. With each movement, his jaw clenches, revealing a hint of his strong, chiseled jawline.
And God, I love the look on his face—so fierce, so vulnerable all at once. Knowing I'm the reason he's coming apart like this sends a wave of warmth straight through me.
It's electric, consuming, almost too much to take in.
