Something primal flickers in his gaze. He crawls up my body, settling his weight over me, and the feel of his skin against mine—hot, hard, everywhere—makes me moan.
He kisses me deeply as his hand slides between my thighs, picking up where he left off in the car. His fingers find me soaked, and he groans into my mouth.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “All for me.”
He strokes me with expert precision, his thumb circling my clit while one finger slides inside. I gasp at the sensation, my hips rising to meet his hand.
“More,” I breathe.
He adds a second finger, stretching me gently, preparing me for what’s to come. The fullness makes me whimper, but there’s no pain—only a building, aching pleasure.
“That’s it,zayka,” he murmurs, curling his fingers to hit a spot that makes me see stars. “Come for me first. I want you relaxed.”
He works me relentlessly, his thumb pressing harder, his fingers thrusting deeper into my pussy, until the tension snaps and I shatter with a cry. Waves of pleasure roll through me, my walls clenching around his fingers as I ride out the orgasm.
While I’m still trembling, he settles between my thighs. I feel him there, the broad head of his hard cock nudging my entrance, and my breath catches.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze.
“This is going to hurt at first,” he says honestly. “But I’ll go slow. And it will get better. I promise.”
I nod, pulling him down for a kiss. “I trust you.”
He reaches between us, positioning himself. “Hold onto me.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he begins to push inside. The stretch is intense—a sharp, burning pressure that makes me gasp. He’s so much bigger than his fingers, and my body resists the intrusion.
He stills immediately. “Breathe,zayka. Relax for me.”
I force myself to exhale, willing my body to soften. He presses kisses to my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth—patient, tender, despite the tension I can feel coiled in his muscles.
“More,” I whisper when the burning eases.
He pushes deeper, inch by careful inch. I feel myself stretching to accommodate him, the discomfort sharp but bearable. When he finally sinks all the way in, we both exhale.
“Okay?” His voice is strained, his arms trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Yes.” The pain is already fading, replaced by an overwhelming fullness. I’ve never felt so...complete. “You can move. Please…move.”
He withdraws slowly, then pushes back in with agonizing control. The first few strokes sting, but with each one, the pleasure builds, overtaking the pain.
“More,” I say again, and this time it’s a demand.
His control slips. His thrusts come faster, deeper, and I rise to meet each one. He hooks one of my legs over his hip, changing the angle, and I cry out as he hits a spot deep inside me that sends lightning coursing through my veins.
“Right there?” he growls.
“Yes—God, yes—”
He drives into me harder, his hips snapping against mine, each thrust punching a moan from my throat. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room—wet, obscene, intoxicating.
“You feel incredible,” he groans, his forehead pressed to mine. “So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me.”
I can only whimper in response, lost to the sensation of him filling me, stretching me, claiming me.
He shifts, lifting my hips off the bed, and the new angle has me seeing stars. His thumb finds my clit, rubbing in tight circles as he pounds into me.
