“You think you can take a third finger, krasivy?” he asks, voice husky, eyes searching mine.
“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to hold the word together. “Yes, Alex. Please.”
And when he eases it in — slow and careful I dig my nails deeper into his shoulder at the sting and feel myself stretch, but his lips are already on mine, soothing and grounding, his other hand stroking along my side in a silent assurance.
The sting fades into heat as his fingers hit my prostate, and it turns into something that steals the breath right out of my lungs. I arch into him with a desperate whimper, my heart racing as I cling tighter to his shoulders, letting him take me apart piece by piece with nothing but his hands and the way he looks at me like I’m everything.
“You can take my cock now, baby?” he asks, voice rough and low, like it’s scraping out from his chest.
I swallow hard. My throat’s dry, my body trembling, but not from fear but from the weight of want.
I nod.
He searches my eyes for a while, then he kisses the tip of my nose, and pulls his fingers out gently, making me shiver at the loss. He pushes himself up on the bed, kneeling between my legs, and I feel exposed again, flushed and aching. His eyes move down, lingering between my open thighs, and when his gaze returns to mine, it’s nothing but heat.
I have to look away. I can feel how red my face is, how breathless I am under his eyes, but my body wants him more than it’s ever wanted anything.
He reaches the side of the bed, muscles shifting as he grabs something from the nightstand. The crinkle of foil draws myattention and then I see it. A condom. He tears it open with his teeth, casual and practiced.
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out, fingers brushing his wrist.
He stills immediately. His gaze meets mine.
“Changed your mind?” he asks softly.
There’s no push in his voice. No frustration. Just space, like he’s offering me the choice again, letting me breathe.
I shake my head quickly. “No… It’s not that, I just—”
The words jammed in my throat, making heat rush up my neck.
“I don’t want you to use it,” I mutter.
His brow lifts, not in shock, but in something quieter. Warmer.
A slow burn starts in his eyes. “No?”
I scramble to explain, cheeks burning.
“I mean… unless you want to, of course. I just thought… You said you haven’t been with anyone since you met me. So I figured—fuck, are you negative?”
He watches me for a long moment, like he’s reading something beneath my fumbling words. My chest tightens. I hate how uncertain I sound. I’ve never said anything like this to anyone.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he tosses the condom to the floor.
“I haven’t been with anyone since I met you,” he says simply. His voice is low, steady, the truth heavy in it. “And yes, I’m negative.”
Relief floods through me, making me nod awkwardly.
“Great,” I squeak. The second the word leaves my mouth, I want to sink into the mattress and disappear.
He laughs — a warm, low sound, and it melts the tension that had crept into my chest. He reaches for my thigh, his handlarge and warm, and drags me closer. My breath catches as he lifts my hips slightly, making my legs open more. I’m exposed and trembling.
He pours more lube into his palm, the slick sound obscene in the quiet. I watch him as he coats himself, slow and deliberate, each stroke gliding along the thick, veiny length of cock. His gaze drops to where my legs are parted for him, and the look on his face makes my toes curl where they’re pressed to the sheets behind him.
“I won’t lie to you,” He murmurs, his hands trailing across my thigh. “This is going to hurt. I wish I could take that from you, but I can’t.”
He presses just the thick tip against my entrance, and the contact alone sends my body into a jolt of nerves. My fingers grip the sheets tightly.
