He switched to the other nipple, sucking deeper, hand cupping the first to keep the pressure steady. I arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders, lost in the way he worshiped me like he'd been starving for this exact taste.
"Come for me," he growled against my skin, thumb finding my clit, rubbing tight circles. "Let me feel it." He brought his face to mine as his fingers wrapped around my throat.
I came with a scream, clenching around him so hard he cursed.
But he didn't stop.
He kept fucking me through it, thumb still working my clit, drawing out the pleasure until it blurred into the next orgasm already building.
"Again," he demanded, hips driving harder. "Come for me again, baby."
"I can't—Drogo—I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His mouth found mine, kiss bruising. "One more. Give me one more."
His cock dragged against every sensitive place inside me, his thumb relentless on my clit, and I came apart again—harder this time, violent, my whole body arching off the bed.
My pussy clamped down on him like a vice, pulsing, milking him, and I felt the exact moment he lost control.
"Fuck—" His eyes went wide, hips stuttering. "Alena—I need to—"
He tried to pull out. I saw it in his face, felt him start to withdraw. But my body wouldn't let him. My legs locked around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his ass, holding him deep inside me as another wave of my orgasm rolled through.
"Fuck—baby—I can't—" His voice broke, desperate, strained. "You're—fuck—"
His whole body locked up as he pushed so deep, I saw stars, cock pulsing inside me as he came with a strangled groan, unable to fight the pleasure or my body's grip on his. Hot. Thick. Endless.
He buried his face in my neck, shaking, gasping my name like a prayer. Then he brought my face to his as he kissed me deep and still hungry moving slowly inside me.
We both realized at the same time.
His forehead dropped to mine, breath ragged, eyes searching mine with something like panic and wonder mixed together.
"Fuck," he whispered. "I came inside you."
I should've panicked. Should've cared. But all I felt was satisfaction—deep, primal, possessive. I wanted his come in me. I wanted to feel him. Claim him.
"I know," I whispered back.
His hand slid down to rest on my belly, palm warm and possessive. His thumb stroked my skin, reverent, like he was imagining something neither of us had said out loud.
"I wanted to," he murmured, so quiet I almost missed it. Voice rough with emotion. "I wanted to stay inside you. Fill you. Mark you as mine." His eyes found mine, vulnerable and raw. "Is that fucked up?"
"No." My hand covered his on my belly. "I wanted it too."
His breath shuddered out. "If you got pregnant—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I wouldn't be sorry."
Oh.
Oh fuck.
He would be ok with that huh? Shit. We haven’t even been on a date. Ok, yes we are together everyday for seventeen years, he was the first man that ever gave me a rose – I will not forget it. It was black. But still… A kid? So fast?
He cupped my cheek, turning my face toward his, and kissed me—soft, sweet, devastating. My hands wrapped around his neck on their own, pulling him closer.
For one perfect, suspended second, the kiss was everything. Gentle, deep, full of seventeen years of unspoken things finally finding a voice.
And then the weight of it hit me.
