I move to the table. Stand between her legs where he was. Reach down. Rub two fingers against her clit. She gasps. Moans. "Oliver…" but her body jerked differently immediately.
His name. She just said his fucking name.
I slide my fingers between her folds. Feel for wetness.
Fuck. She's dry. Completely dry.
Even after his mouth on her. Even after his fingers. Even after she spread her legs and blindfolded herself for him. Her body still won't cooperate.
Because it knows. Even if she doesn't. Even if she's trying to move on. Her body knows who it belongs to.
I lean over her. Spit on her pussy. Watch it slide down between her folds, mixing with the faint wetness that's barely there after my fingers traced it.
So, you wanted to fuck him. The thought burns. You wanted his cock in you. Wanted to let him claim what's mine.
I pull my cock out. Already leaking. Already desperate with two years of wanting her, two years of watching from shadows, two years of jerking off to her memory while she cried herself to sleep. I'm bigger than Oliver—significantly bigger—and she's not ready. But I don't care. I need to reclaim what's mine. Need to erase every trace of his touch.
I position myself at her entrance. Press the head against her. She gasps—sharp, surprised. Her hand flies to her mouth but I grab her wrist. Pin it to the table above her head.
I push in. Just the head. Stretching her. She's tight—so fucking tight—and not wet enough yet. I feel her body resist, muscles clenching instinctively against the intrusion. But then something shifts. Her pussy clenches around me differently. Not resistance. Recognition.
"Oh—" She gasps. Louder this time. Real shock. Not fake. Not performance. "Fuck!"
Different sound. Her body knows. Even blindfolded. Even confused. It knows this cock. Knows this stretch. Knows me.
I push deeper. Inch by inch. Working myself into her tight heat. She's getting wetter with every thrust—slick gathering, biology overriding confusion, her body responding to what her mind doesn't know yet. The sound is obscene—wet,desperate, the slide of my cock into her pussy after two years of separation. I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into soft flesh like I'm afraid she'll disappear if I let go.
"This—" She gasps. "This feels—"
I push deeper. Harder. Bottoming out inside her. Filling her completely. The way Oliver never could. The way no one else ever will.
I pull out almost completely. Slam back in. She cries out—loud, uncontrolled, the sound echoing through the house. Her pussy clenches around me like a vice, slick and hot and mine.
She grabs the end of the table with the free hand as I slam in her hard.
“Fuck!” she screams as her pussy tightens around my cock.
I fuck her harder.
38
ALENA
Oh my god.
His dick is—
I can't—
How is this even possible?
I felt it through his jeans minutes ago. Wrapped my hand around it. Measured. Memorized. It was good. Decent. Long but not thick. Manageable.
This is not that.
This is huge. Thick enough that the stretch borders on painful. Long enough that he's hitting places Oliver shouldn't be able to reach. Deep. So fucking deep I can feel it in my stomach.
My back arches off the table, body moving without permission, chasing the sensation even as my brain struggles to catch up.
