The sight knocks the breath from me: me, naked and trembling, his huge body framing mine, holding me open for inspection. His cock is hot and heavy against my lower back, his arms like iron bars around me.
Every vulnerable inch of me is laid out in front of us.
Our eyes lock in the glass.
The mirror’s low light cuts across the angles of his face, shadowing his jaw, catching on the sharp line of his cheekbones. My pulse stutters because there is nothing soft about the man holding me open like this.
“What… what are we doing?”
“Taking our time. I need you to see what I see. You’re fucking beautiful.”
“That’s debatable.” I try to press my knees together but his thighs won’t let me.
“Not with me, it’s not.” His grip tightens on my thighs, a reminder that he’s bigger everywhere—arms, chest, thighs—and right now all that raw male weight is focused on keeping me exposed in the mirror for him to look at.
Heat crawls up my neck. I look anywhere but the mirror, but his fingers curl under my chin, forcing my gaze forward.
“I’m embarrassed,” I mumble.
“Don’t be. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just breathe, sweetheart.”
I stare at us. At me spread wide, at him behind me.
“See what I see. You have a body to be worshipped. Every inch of it. Those breasts, that skin.” His eyes catch mine in the mirror. “Those green eyes. That sweet little mouth that drives me insane.”
A broken groan tears out of him as his hand slips lower, sliding wet between my thighs. The obscene slick sound fills the room, louder than my ragged breathing.
He drags his fingers wider, forcing me to see every raw detail reflected back—wet, flushed, pink folds glistening under his touch, every raw detail laid bare.
“Look at that perfect cunt,” he growls. “Look at what I get to touch. What I get to take.”
The mirror traps me in the sight of him behind me, eyes dark, jaw clenched. “Now look at me,” he orders. “Look at my face and see what you do to me.”
His cock jerks hard against my spine as he says it, thick and undeniable.
My mouth opens but all that comes out is a sharp, broken gasp as his thick finger pushes into my slit.
His other hand clamps around my hip, pinning me still while his thumb finds my clit. Lazy, torturous circles, slow enough to drive me insane. Each drag pulls another broken sound out of me—a squeak, a gasp, a moan—like my body can’t keep quiet no matter how hard I try to bite it back.
I force myself to look. Really look.
The mirror shows everything—his thick fingers disappearing into my glistening pussy, reappearing slick and shiny before plunging back in. Each thrust makes a wet, obscene noise.
Behind me, his reflection is intense: jaw tight, hunger carved so deep into his face it looks savage. He watches every slick movement like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.
It should humiliate me, being opened up like this, forced to see every raw detail. But the way he looks at me makes me wonder if I’ve been wrong all along. Maybe I’m not something to hide. Maybe I’m something worth seeing.
A helpless whimper slips from my throat.
He keeps me pinned, his forearm banded hard across my middle. The pressure against my ribs makes my breath quick and shallow.
In the glass, I see the rhythm of his finger driving into me, the obscene push-pull, and the subtle flex of muscle in his forearm as his thumb circles my clit again… and again… until my thighs tremble.
“Do you think about me when you do this to yourself?” His voice vibrates against my back.
“N-no!” The lie bursts out too fast, breaking on a gasp when his finger curls deep, hitting that place that makes my eyes roll back.
“Like I said.” His mouth brushes my hair. “You’re a terrible liar.” He drives deeper, forcing a cry out of me. My legs kick uselessly, thighs jolting. “Tell the truth.”
