She moans, her hands gripping my hair. “Max, Ican’t—”
“Shh,” I say, my lips capturing hers in a fierce kiss as I slide a finger inside her. She’s tight, so tight, and I groan into her mouth, adding a second finger, thrusting slowly, watching her fall apart. Her walls clench around my fingers, her body arching into my touch, and I know she’s close.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” I murmur, my thumb pressing harder against her clit. “You’re so tight, so hot. I’m going to make you come all over my fingers.”
Her breath hitches, her body arching into my touch. “I think… I’m close already…”
“Not yet,” I whisper, pulling my fingers out, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes. “I want to hear you beg.”
Her eyes widen, her lips parting in a silent plea. “Please… Max… I need—”
I don’t let her finish. I press her back against the cushions, my lips finding hers in a desperate kiss as I slide my fingers back inside her, faster this time, harder. “Come for me, Nora,” I growl, my thumb rubbing her clit in quick, relentless circles. “Come on my fingers. Let me hear you.”
She cries out, her body shaking as she climaxes, her walls clenching around my fingers. “Yes… oh God…”
I hold her through her orgasm, kissing her softly, my fingers still moving inside her, riding out her pleasure. When she finally goes limp, I pull my fingers out, bringing them to my lips, tasting her on my tongue. “You’re so sweet,” I murmur, my eyes locking with hers.
My cock is hard, throbbing, and I see her swallow hard, her gaze flicking down before meeting mine again. “Max…”
I bend down to whisper to her, my lips brushing her ear. “You’re going to take me, Nora. All of me. And you’re going to love it.”
She shivers, her hands resting on my chest. “Yes. I want that… more than anything.”
“Ready?” I ask, my voice low, dirty.
She nods, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes…”
I align myself to her, breach her slowly—inch by careful inch—eyes locked on hers. The sensation is a gut punch of pleasure; she’s so tight, heat pulsing around me. “God, you feel incredible.” My hips find a rhythm that’s both gentle and inexorable, giving her time to adjust. She wraps her legs around me, nails scraping my shoulders—a sweet sting.
“Look at me, Nora.” I need the connection; I need her to feel how real this is. Her eyes open, wide and shining.
I thrust into her slowly, savoring the way she stretches around me, the way she gasps and clings to me. “Fuck, Nora,” I groan, my hands gripping her hips. “You feel so good. So tight, so hot.”
She whimpers: “Please… don’t stop…”
I smirk, pulling out slowly before slamming back into her, setting a relentless pace. The sound of skin on skin, her soft moans, and the creak of the bed frame fill the room. I lean down, my lips brushing her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “You like that, don’t you? My cock filling you up, stretching you out?”
She moans, her hips meeting mine, her body moving with mine in perfect rhythm. “Yes… oh God, yes…”
I trail kisses along her jawline, my hands gripping her ass, lifting her slightly with each thrust. Her legs wrap around me, her heels digging into my back, pulling me deeper. The scent of her desire, mixed with the faint aroma of her perfume, intoxicates me.
“You’re so tight, Nora,” I growl, my thrusts becoming harder, faster. “So fucking tight. I’m going to fill you up, make you mine.”
Her breath hitches, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Max… I’m close again…”
“Good girl,” I whisper, my lips brushing hers. “Come for me, Nora. I’ve got you. Come on my cock.”
She cries out, her body trembling as she climaxes, her walls milking me, squeezing me. I groan, my control snapping, and I follow her over the edge, my cock pulsing inside her as I fill her with my cum. The sensation is overwhelming—her body clenching around me, her soft cries, the heat of her skin against mine.
Aftershock leaves us fused, breaths ragged, hearts beating against ribs. I lower myself gently, kiss the damp line of her forehead. “Fuck, Nora,” I breathe, still awed.
She rests half-on, half-against me: head tucked under my chin, one arm draped over my ribs. Outside the window, the skyline pulses amber and violet; inside, only our breaths punctuate the hush.
I slide a hand through her hair. It smells faintly of sandalwood oil from the massage, mixed with chamomile from her tea. She makes a quiet humming sound—content, sated—and presses her knee between my thighs, searching instinctively for the most comfortable notch. I give her my weight in return, folding my arms around her back until she lets out a long, fluttery exhale. Tension drains from her body in one soft collapse.
“Comfortable?” I whisper, throat still gravelly.
“Mmm,” she answers, the syllable melting into my skin.
