My cock throbs. I’ve been hard since she first called my name, and the need to be inside her is a physical ache. But I don’t rush. I never rush. The best things take time.
I push one finger inside her and watch her face. She gasps, her inner walls clenching around me, so responsive and desperate for touch.
“More.” The word comes out strangled. “Please.”
I add a second finger. Stretch her slowly. She’s been knotted multiple times, but I still want to be careful. Still want to make sure she’s ready for me.
She rocks against my hand, trying to speed things up. Impatient. I press my other hand flat against her stomach, holding her still.
“Let me.” Two words. All I give her.
Her whole body goes limp. Surrender. Complete trust.
Fuck.
Something cracks open in my chest. This woman, this stubborn, beautiful, impossible woman, just handed me control like it was nothing. Like she trusts me that completely.
I will not betray that trust.
I work her slowly. Build her up with my fingers until she’s shaking, until her pussy is clenching rhythmically, until she’s right on the edge. Then I pull back. Let her settle. Start again.
She whimpers. “Elijah...”
I know what she needs. I’m not being cruel. I’m taking my time because I want this to be good for her. Want her to remember this moment, this feeling, when the heat haze fades.
I want her to rememberme.
The third time I bring her to the edge, I don’t pull back. I curl my fingers, press against that spot inside her, and watch her shatter.
She comes silently, mouth open, back arched, every muscle locked tight. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers so hard it almost hurts, and I feel slick gush out around my hand. She’s beautiful like this. Wrecked and trembling and completely mine.
I don’t give her time to recover. While she’s still trembling through the aftershocks, I position myself at her entrance and push inside.
The feeling almost undoes me.
She’s tight and hot and wet, her pussy gripping my cock like it was made for me, pulling me deeper with every inch. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to just slam home and take what I want.
I keep the pace slow and steady. This is about her, not me.
I bottom out and hold still, watching her face, waiting.
Her eyes open, dark and dazed but present. She sees me. Really sees me.
“Elijah.” Her hand comes up to cup my face. “You feel...”
She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. I can feel it too. The connection. The rightness of this.
I start to move.
Slow, deep, deliberate thrusts. I pull almost all the way out, then push back in, making her feel every inch of my cock. She’s making sounds, soft whimpers and gasps that go straight to my spine, but I don’t speed up. Don’t change my rhythm.
This isn’t about chasing an orgasm. This is aboutfeeling. About showing her, with my body, all the things I can’t say with words.
Every thrust is a message.I see you. I want you. I’m not going anywhere.
She’s climbing again. I can feel it in the way her inner walls flutter around me, the way her breath catches, the way her nails dig into my shoulders. I adjust the angle, just slightly, and hit that spot that makes her cry out.
“There.” She gasps. “Right there, don’t stop.”
