“Yes,” I whisper, voice small but sure, because I’m done fighting it. I want him, all of him.
“But first, touch me. Feel what you do to me.” He guides my hand to his cock, still in his jeans, and I feel how hard he is, massive.
God, I want to see it, rip the denim off, suck him until he’s shaking like I am.
“Stroke it,printsessa, make me ache like you do.” I do, rubbing through the fabric, and he growls, “Harder, make me come in my pants like a boy.” The dirty command makes me wetter.
His hands move to my blouse, fingers snagging the hem, yanking it up fast.
“Let me see your beautiful body,” he says, words short, his hands ripping the fabric over my head, tossing it aside with a thud.
My bra’s next, his fingers unhooking it, pulling it off, my curves spilling free, heavy and full.
Beautiful? My breath catches. People call me fat, chubby, names that cut deep, but beautiful? That’s new, foreign.
I look at him, and it’s all want—raw, real, no lies.
My chest tightens, not with shame but with something hotter, needier, as his hands cup my curves, squeezing, thumbs grazing my nipples, making me gasp, “Ahhhh!” My pussy pulses, and I’m trembling, exposed, but wanted. Fuck, so wanted.
“I want to see you too…” I whisper, voice shy, my hands shaking as they reach for his shirt. He smirks, stepping back just enough to rip it off, muscles flexing, ink and scars bared across his chest. His hands hit his belt, unbuckling fast, the clink loud. He shoves his jeans and boxers down, and his cock springs free—huge,thick, forearm-sized, veined and pulsing, the head slick with pre-cum.
I stare, mouth dry, because fuck, it’s massive, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, like it could split me open, ruin me.
My pussy clenches, aching to feel it, and I’m panting, my curves heaving as I reach for him.
“Touch it,” he says, guiding my hand to his cock, wrapping my fingers around it. “Stroke my dick,printsessa,feel how fucking hard you make me.”
I do, my hand barely circling him, sliding slowly, the skin hot and silky over steel.
He groans, “That’s it, harder, jerk me like you mean it.” I pump faster, thumb smearing his pre-cum, the sound obscene, and he curses, “Fuck, your hand’s so good. Squeeze tighter, make it sloppy.”
I suck in a quiet breath. He is so beautiful. We hold our gaze as I stroke him tip to base and back again, feeling him throb, massive and heavy in my grip. He leans in, mouth crashing onto mine, tongue demanding, tasting me.
“I want to suck you,” I gasp against his lips, desperate, and he pulls back, smirking.
“Go on,printsessa, taste me.”
I slide off the counter, knees hitting the floor, the marble slick beneath me, and take him in my mouth, lips stretching around his girth.
He’s so big I can barely fit him, my tongue swirling the head, tasting salt and heat.
“Fuck yes, suck my cock,” he says, hand fisting my hair, guiding me deeper. I bob, sucking hard, gagging a little, but I don’t stop, my hand stroking the base, wet with spit and pre-cum. He groans, hips bucking.
“So fucking good. Keep going, take it all.”
I keep sucking, lips stretching around his massive cock, saliva dripping down my chin, slicking my hand as I stroke him.
I look up, and fuck, he’s tall, towering over me, his chest broad, scars crisscrossing his skin, jagged lines snaking from his pecs to his back, healed but raw, like a map of battles. My free hand moves, fingers tracing a thick scar on his side, rough under my touch, and he flinches, a sharp hiss escaping.
“Careful,printsessa,” he says, hand tightening in my hair, “those are old, but you’re waking something else.” His hips buck harder, cock hitting the back of my throat, and I’m trembling, my body heaving. God, I want him, scars and all, and it’s terrifying, this need to taste every mark, to know him.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says, reaching for my upper arm to lift me. Then he’s hefting me up and setting me back ontothe counter as if I weigh nothing. He’s back between my thighs, hand gripping his cock, lining it up.
I freeze, body trembling, want and confusion twisting inside me.
“Anton, wait…” I whisper, voice shaky. “I’m… scared.”
He pauses, hand still on his cock, and tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
