He positions himself between my legs, spreading them wider with his knees, making space for his hips. Guides himself to my entrance with one hand while the other braces beside my head.
"You're perfect," he says against my mouth, breath warm and unsteady. "So fucking perfect."
He pushes inside. Slow. Inch by careful inch. Giving me time to adjust to the stretch, to the fullness, to the sensation of being opened and filled in a way I've never experienced.
It's too much. Not enough. Everything.
"That's it," he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. "Take me. All of me. Vajzë e mirë. Good girl."
The praise goes straight through me, makes me clench around him involuntarily.
He groans again, the sound pulled from somewhere deep. Bottoms out inside me. Stays still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Rolling his hips in a rhythm that's more grinding than thrusting, hitting places inside me I didn't know existed.His mouth moves to my breasts, tongue circling one nipple before his teeth close around it, the bite of pain mixing with pleasure in ways that make me gasp.
My hands find his back, nails digging into muscle as he works me higher. His skin is hot under my palms, slightly damp with exertion, every movement of his body against mine creating friction that builds and builds.
Then faster. Harder. The bed moving with each thrust now, headboard bumping softly against the wall, the sound mixing with our breathing and the small sounds I can't hold back.
I'm close again. Already. My body responding to him in ways that should be impossible this soon after the last orgasm, but the pleasure is coiling tight in my belly anyway, demanding release.
His hand moves between us, finds my oversensitive clit with unerring accuracy.
Pinches.
I come hard, the orgasm crashing through me with enough force to steal my voice, my vision whiting out completely for several seconds. My whole body clenching around him, pulling him deeper, trying to keep him exactly where he is.
I hear him curse in Albanian, something that sounds like praise and possession mixed together.
I'm still shaking, still riding the aftershocks, when he pulls out.
The loss makes me whimper, makes me reach for him without thinking.
He catches my thighs. Turns me over onto my stomach with a strength that should probably alarm me but instead sends another wave of heat through my already oversensitized system.
I'm amazed at how easily he moves me, how effortlessly he positions my body exactly how he wants it. Like I weigh nothing. Like my body is his to command and arrange. Like I'm something precious but also entirely his to do with as he pleases.
The thought should bother me. Should trigger some kind of resistance.
It doesn't.
He enters me from behind in one hard thrust that punches the air from my lungs, the angle completely different, somehow deeper, hitting places that make stars explode behind my closed eyes.
His hands find mine, threading our fingers together before pinning them to the bed on either side of my head. Holding me in place. Keeping me exactly where he wants me while he sets a pace that's vigorous, relentless, designed to drive us both toward something explosive.
The position leaves me helpless. Unable to move. Unable to do anything except take what he's giving me and try to remember how to breathe.
My face is pressed into the pillow, his weight partially on me but not crushing, just present enough to remind me exactly who's in control right now. The scent of him surrounds me, cedar and smoke and something uniquely Luan, mixing with the smell of sex and sweat and the faint vanilla of my own skin.
After what feels like forever and no time at all, he shifts. Gets on his knees, still buried inside me, the movement changing the angle again.
Pulls me up with him, strong hands gripping my hips and lifting until I'm on my knees too, back pressed against his chest, completely impaled on him from behind.
One hand slides up my body, wraps around my throat. Not squeezing. Not restricting air. Just holding. Claiming. Making it absolutely clear who I belong to in this moment.
The other hand finds my clit, fingers working with practiced precision.
