My body coils tight, every muscle trembling.
“I’ve got you,” he says, voice low, gravel-thick. “Come for me.”
And I do. Hard. Shattering. Undone in his mouth with a cry that sounds like I’ve been waiting for him my whole life.
When I open my eyes again, he’s above me, shirtless now, his mouth kiss-bruised, his eyes molten.
He reaches for his jeans, pausing only when he sees me watching.
“You’re sure you’re ready to take me?” he asks one last time.
“I’ve never been more sure.”
He undoes his belt, pulls off his jeans and briefs. My breath catches when I see him.
Big. Hard. Thick with desire and restraint.
He kneels between my thighs, not rushing. Running his hands over my hips, my ribs, my jaw.
“Look at me,” he says. “If it hurts, tell me. If you want to stop, say it. You’re in control.”
“I trust you,” I whisper.
He groans and lowers himself, one hand braced beside my head, the other guiding himself to my entrance.
The first press burns a little. My breath catches.
“You okay?” he says, frozen in place.
“Yeah. Just… slow.”
He moves an inch deeper, then stills again.
Kisses my cheek. My jaw. My temple.
By the time he’s fully inside, I’m shaking for a different reason.
“Oh, my god—”
“I know,” he groans. “I know, love.”
He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, forehead resting against mine, breath ragged.
“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he rasps. “Tight. Warm. Mine.”
Then he starts to move.
Slow thrusts. Deep. Like he wants me to feelevery inch.
And I do. God, I do.
The pressure builds again, faster this time, sharper.
“Saint—” My hands grip his shoulders. Nails digging in. “I’m—”
“I’ve got you,” he says again, and this time it sounds like a promise.
I come around him with a cry I can’t hold back, and he buries his face in my neck with a groan that sounds like surrender.
