"Like this?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Yes," he breathes, then catches my wrist. "But not like this. Not the first time."
He guides me to the bed, drawing back the covers before laying me down against the sheets. They're cool and soft against my heated skin, a pleasant contrast to the fire burning through my veins. He moves between my legs, his weight settling over me in a way that feels both thrilling and grounding.
He braces himself on his forearms, careful not to crush me. I can feel him against my inner thigh, hard and insistent.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, claiming and possessive in a way that makes me arch up against him. My hands explore his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath warm skin, the slight dampness of sweat beginning to form. He shifts, his mouthtrailing down my neck, across my collarbone, finding my breast again.
His eyes find mine, serious despite the flush of desire on his face.
"This will hurt," he says quietly. "Not much, and not for long, but it will. Tell me if you need me to stop."
I nod, reaching up to touch his face, feeling the rasp of his beard against my palm. "I trust you."
He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm, then reaches between us, positioning himself at my entrance.
The first press of him against me is foreign, overwhelming—hot, blunt pressure seeking entry. He goes slowly, maddeningly so, the head of him just barely breaching me, then withdrawing slightly, then pressing forward again. The teasing friction builds heat even as it prepares me. I feel myself opening to him, my body yielding incrementally with each shallow thrust.
When he meets resistance, he pauses, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see the strain of restraint in the tension of his jaw, the slight tremor in his arms as he holds himself above me.
"Breathe," he murmurs, one hand stroking my hair back from my face.
I inhale deeply, trying to relax. He chooses that moment to push forward, breaching the barrier in one smooth motion. Pain flares, sharp but brief, pulling a gasp from my throat.
He stills immediately, muscles trembling with the effort of restraint. "Okay?"
I nod, the discomfort already fading into something more complex. The feeling of him inside me is unlike anything I've experienced, intimate in a way I wasn't prepared for, mybody stretched around him, accommodating his size with a pleasurable burn.
"Don't stop," I whisper, lifting my hips slightly to take him deeper.
He groans at the movement, his control visibly fraying. "You feel incredible," he says, voice strained. "So tight. So perfect."
He withdraws slightly before pressing back in, a slow, deliberate stroke that makes us both gasp. He creates a gentle rhythm, each thrust measured and controlled, giving me time to adjust to the new sensation.
I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, taking him deeper still. The shift pulls a low growl from his throat, his pace increasing slightly in response. His weight presses me into the mattress, his chest rubbing against my breasts with each movement, creating delicious friction against my sensitive nipples.
"Good?" he asks, watching my face.
"Yes," I breathe, hands sliding down to his lower back, feeling the muscles flex as he moves. "More."
He shifts, lifting my hips slightly with one large hand, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The change is immediate and intense, he hits something inside me that makes my vision blur, a spot I didn't know existed. I cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.
"There," he murmurs, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He repeats the motion, deliberately targeting that spot, watching as I unravel beneath him.
The rhythm builds, his thrusts becoming more insistent, less controlled. The sound of our breathing fills the room,punctuated by the wet sound of our bodies together, the creak of the bed beneath us.
He shifts again, sitting back on his heels and pulling me onto his lap without breaking our connection. Like this, we're face to face, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands supporting my lower back.
"Move," he instructs, hands guiding my hips. "Find what feels good."
I rock experimentally, lifting and lowering myself on him, discovering the rhythm that sends sparks shooting up my spine. His hands help guide me, strong and sure on my hips, but he lets me set the pace, watching with dark eyes as I find my pleasure.
"Silas," I gasp, movements becoming erratic as tension coils tighter. "I'm close—"
"Let me feel you," he growls, thrusting up to meet my downward motion.
The command in his voice pushes me over the edge. My body clenches around him, walls pulsing as pleasure radiates outward from where we're connected. The intensity of it steals my breath, my vision blurring at the edges as wave after wave crashes through me.
