He spins me toward the bike, backing me up until the metal touches my thighs. His hand slides between my thighs. Fingers dipping lower.
"Let’s get you ready, baby," he whispers. His fingers tease me for a moment, barely circling, enough to make me squirm under his hand. And then he pushes in. Slow. The stretch hits instantly.
My lips part with a shaky moan, back arching against the bike as his first finger sinks inside me. His second finger is inside me too now, steady and fucking perfect. He moves them with this maddening rhythm, curling up inside me to make my whole body jolt.
Every time he presses in, it’s like he knows exactly where to touch, where to make me feel it the most. We’ve had sex so many times that sometimes, honestly, prep feels optional. Like, I can literally feel it. But he always does it anyway.
Because he wants to. Because he enjoys it. And who am I to complain? If it’s his hands, his mouth, his focus on me, he can do whatever he wants. Anything. I don’t care what it is. If it’s him, and it’s on my body, I’m fucking saying yes.
Every time.
I’m shaking already. My thighs keep tensing without my permission. I want more. God, I always want more with him. Hisfree hand starts moving too. First it slides up my waist, gripping my side, holding me still. Then higher, across my chest.
His palm flattens over my heart, feeling how fast it’s beating. It’s fucking racing. I swallow hard while his fingers inside me twist slightly, opening me more, pushing a little deeper. "Please don’t stop..." I whisper, voice shaking.
He smiles. His fingers keep moving, pressing up, pulling back, slipping in deeper with every stroke. I can’t stop looking at him. I will never get over it. The way his hand looks inside me. The veins on his wrist flexing. His long, beautiful fucking fingers disappearing into me, filling me up so slowly it makes my head spin.
"You feel that? You feel how good you fucking take me?" he whispers. "So fucking perfect, only for me." He licks my throat.
I whimper. I actually whimper. My entire body is burning. And he hasn’t even started yet. He lines himself up, one hand gripping my thigh, the other steadying himself. His eyes lock on mine, completely gone, but soft, too.
"Can I?" he breathes.
I nod.
And he pushes in. More, and more. Until he’s fully buried inside me. My whole body arches into him, my mouth falling open with a soft, broken moan. "You’re killing me, Rava…" His hand tightens on my thigh, grounding me, pulling me further into him.
I can feel everything. Every inch. Every fucking inch. When he bottoms out, we both gasp. My nails dig into his arms, gripping hard. "I missed this," I whisper.
He kisses me. He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried fully inside me, his forehead resting lightly against mine. "You feel that?" he whispers, barely holding back. "You’re full of me." I whimper, eyes glazing over. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.
And then he starts moving. Slow but deep, controlled thrusts that make my back press harder against the bike.
Every roll of his hips sends shockwaves through me, my legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist. The sounds start immediately… the wet slap of skin against skin filling the air as he’s bouncing on me, mixing with our breathless moans.
He moans, and lowers his head.
"Fuck…listen to this," he thrusts again, deeper.
Clap.
"That’s my favorite fucking sound."
I gasp, my head rolling back, mouth open, moaning louder now with every sharp, perfect snap of his hips. He slams into me again, the sounds of our bodies crashing together echoing in my ears, and I can’t help but moan.
"God, listen to you," he says with a shaky voice.
"You fuckingsingfor me when I go deep."
I can’t answer. My nails scrape down his back as I cling to him. The noise is getting louder, wetter. "Fuck—" I choke out, voice cracking. "I can’t Gio—" His hand wraps around my throat gently, just enough to ground me again, to keep me from falling apart too soon.
"Yes, baby, you can," he whispers. "Take it. You’re doing so fucking good for me." Another hard thrust.
Clap.
Every thrust is deep, and just slow enough to make me crazy.
"You hear that?" he whispers near my ear. "That’s how much you want me." I squeeze my eyes, head rolling back.
