He shifts, rolling onto his back, and I take the opportunity to explore. His chest is a marvel—broad and defined, dusted withdark hair that narrows to a trail leading to the waistband of his pants. I follow it with my fingers, then my lips, feeling his muscles jump beneath my touch.
When I reach his belt, I look up at him for permission. He nods, his eyes never leaving mine as I unbuckle it and slowly lower his zipper. He lifts his hips, helping me remove his pants and boxers in one go.
And then he’s bare before me, gloriously naked and undeniably not human. He’s larger than any man I’ve ever been with, thick and long, the head of his cock flushed dark with arousal. A bead of moisture gathers at the tip, and without thinking, I lean down to taste it.
His whole body jerks, a harsh breath escaping him. “Lena?—”
I take him into my mouth as far as I can, which isn’t very far given his size, but I make up for it with enthusiasm and the use of my hands. His taste is intoxicating—musky, slightly sweet, addictive.
His hands find my hair, not pushing, just holding, as if he needs something to anchor himself. I work him slowly, learning what makes his breath hitch, what draws those deep groans from his chest.
When his hips start to move restlessly, he tugs gently at my hair. “Stop,” he rasps. “Or this will be over too soon.”
I release him with a final lick, smiling at his groan. He pulls me up his body, capturing my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath.
“Turn over,” he murmurs against my lips. “On your hands and knees.”
A thrill runs through me at the command. I comply, positioning myself as he asks, feeling exposed and vulnerable and incredibly aroused.
The bed shifts as he moves behind me. I hear the sound of a drawer opening, then closing. When his hands return to my body, they’re slick with something cool and viscous.
“Relax,” he says, his voice a soothing rumble as one finger circles my entrance, spreading the lubricant generously. “I’ll go slow.”
He works me open carefully, adding a second finger, then a third, stretching me with gentle persistence. By the time he’s satisfied, I’m rocking back against his hand, desperate for more.
“Please,” I gasp. “I’m ready.”
I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, slick with lube. He enters me with agonizing slowness, just the tip at first, giving me time to adjust.
The stretch is intense—a burning pressure that walks the line between pleasure and pain. I breathe through it, willing my body to relax, to accept him.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his hands steady on my hips. “So perfect.”
He starts slowly, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as my body accommodates him. Each movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine. I drop to my elbows, changing the angle, and cry out as he hits a spot inside me that makes my toes curl.
Inch by inch, he sinks deeper, until I feel impossibly full, stretched around him in a way that makes my vision blur. When he’s fully seated, he pauses, letting me adjust.
“There,” I gasp. “Right there.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, focusing his thrusts to hit that spot repeatedly. His pace increases, his breath coming harder, the slap of skin against skin filling the room.
“Move,” I finally manage, pushing back against him.
I reach between my legs, circling my clit with my fingers, the dual stimulation pushing me rapidly toward another peak. He notices, his hand covering mine, taking over the motion.
“Come for me again,” he growls. “Let me feel you.”
His fingers work me expertly, in time with his thrusts, and the pressure builds and builds until I’m shattering, clenching around him, my cries muffled by the sheets.
He follows moments later, his rhythm faltering, a deep groan torn from his throat as he empties himself inside me. I feel the pulse of him, the heat of his release, and it triggers an aftershock of pleasure that has me trembling anew.
We collapse together, his weight carefully distributed to avoid crushing me. For long moments, the only sound is our labored breathing as we come down from the high.
When he finally slips out of me, I feel a trickle of warmth between my thighs. He rolls me onto my back, his expression a mix of satisfaction and concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing hair from my face.
I laugh, breathless. “I’m better than okay. I’m fantastic.”
