I’m spun around, my arms are released, finally free—but before I can find my balance, I’m yanked back into a hard chest.
“It’ll be tight,” he rumbles in my ear, holding my jaw and tilting it down to make me see the tip of his large, hard cock jutting out between my thighs.
He slowly slides forwards rubbing himself against my wet pussy as every inch is revealed.
“But I’ll make it fit,” he murmurs. “You’ll take it.” Slowly, he rocks, back and forth, coating himself in my arousal. “All of it.” His shadows snake around my waist, yanking me flush against him.
When his hand grasps his cock, when I feel him notch the tip against my soaking entrance, I struggle to keep my eyes open.
He kisses my cheek, so softly, even as the grip on my jaw tightens.
“Take it, immaru,” he murmurs, coated in a soft growl of command.
Before he slowly pushes in.
I gasp at the careful intrusion, at the burning stretch, as he mutters something dark, gritty, and foreign in my ear.
Then a word I do know.
“Perfect,” he groans, breathless, almost a grunt.
That one word, and it’s like he’s lavished me in compliments.
But he doesn’t move anymore. With just the tip inside me, he takes a moment to pause, to simply feel me around him, to let me adjust to the stretch of his girth.
Then, he inches in—so slowly.
I feel the strain in his body, all his muscles tensing against me as he pushes inside, stretching me—filling me.
“Perfect, immaru,” he whispers, fragmented, breathless.
Oh fuck-ing hell.
Kane’s short rasp of praise is just as deadly as a full sentence. I’m somehow wetter, soaked, more from that than the thick cock slowly sinking into me. Inch-by-inch.
“Mine,” he growls, as he finally thrusts up, all the way inside, making me gasp. Then he stills.
We’re both panting, our bodies trembling from the restraint, the stretch, but also with a desperate need to move.
Neither of us speak, I don’t think we can. Not when I feel so full with his hard cock pulsing inside of me. But I still need more.
I don’t use words. Instead, I lift my hips just enough to pull some of him out of me. He flinches, but I’m already lowering back down. Taking him all the way again.
A needy whine slips out of me, because it’s not enough, I need more of him. But he still isn’t moving.
So I’ll move for him.
Shallow, slow, little movements are all I can manage, but I keep going. Lifting and dropping. Always taking my time. But it works.
A few more seconds, and Kane groans out a low, shuddering noise. It’s an inhuman sound. Something tangled with need and desperation.
I keep going, teasing him, myself, because he refuses to—refuses to lose himself in me.
Because beneath this deep desire, I feel a flicker of his fear. Fear of hurting me, of losing himself, of being too much. But I want it.
When I try to lift myself a little higher, there’s a soft rumble in his chest. A warning maybe? But I keep pushing. Tilting my head back against his shoulder, letting my lips brush his jaw, I move my hips up higher.
Murmuring inside his mind, to him, to his darkness as I lower myself and feel the slide of his cock slipping back inside:“Are you scared, idimmu—”
