"Tell me what you want." His voice was ragged, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black. "I don't know how—I don't want to hurt you?—"
"You won't." I ground down again, harder. "What Iwant is you inside me. I want to feel you stretch me open, want to feel you so deep I forget my own name. Can you do that?"
His cock twitched against me, a pulse of heat I felt even through the last of the water on our skin. "Yeah. I can do that."
I reached down and took his hand, brought it up to my mouth. Held his gaze as I drew two of his thick fingers between my lips, licking them thoroughly, coating them with saliva. His breath stuttered, his eyes going impossibly darker as he watched me work his fingers with my tongue—the same way I'd worked his cock minutes ago.
When they were dripping wet, I guided his hand behind me. "Fingers first. Go slow until I tell you otherwise."
He nodded, something fierce and focused settling into his expression. This was Tank in mission mode—the same intensity he brought to everything, now turned entirely on me. When the first finger pressed against my entrance, I had to close my eyes against the wave of sensation.
"Like this?" He pushed inside slowly, carefully, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.
"Just like that." I rocked back against his hand, taking him deeper. The stretch burned—it had been too long—but underneath the burn was something better. Anticipation. Hunger. The knowledge that this wasTanktouching me like this, Tank watching me with those dark eyes, Tank about to be inside me. "More."
He added a second finger, scissoring them gently,working me open with those thick, calloused fingers that had haunted my fantasies for weeks. His other hand stroked up my thigh, my hip, my chest—like he couldn't stop touching me, like he was trying to memorize every inch of my skin.
"You're so tight." His voice was awed, strained. "So hot inside. I can feel you clenching around me."
"Wait until it's your cock." I ground down on his fingers, chasing the stretch. "Another one. I want to feel it."
He obeyed, and the burn intensified—right on the edge of too much, exactly where I wanted it. When he crooked his fingers and found my prostate, I cried out, my whole body jerking.
"There." I grabbed his wrist, held him in place. "Right there, don't stop."
He rubbed that spot with methodical precision, watching me fall apart in his lap. Each press of his fingers sent lightning through my veins, made my cock leak against my stomach, made sounds spill out of me that I couldn't control.
"Now." I grabbed his wrist, pulled his fingers free. "Tank, please. I want you now."
I spat into my palm, reached down and stroked him—spreading the moisture along his length, feeling him pulse hot and desperate in my grip. His hands found my hips as I positioned myself over him, the head pressing against my entrance.
I held his gaze as I started to sink down. The stretch was intense. He was thick—thicker than his fingers, thicker than anyone I'd been with before—and my body resisted at first. I breathed through it, bore down,felt the head pop past the tight ring of muscle. Tank's hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still.
"Don't stop." I took more of him, inch by inch, feeling him fill me up. "I want all of you."
I sank down until I was fully seated, his cock buried impossibly deep, filling every inch of me. Full. So fucking full. I stayed still for a moment, letting my body adjust, feeling him throb inside me.
"Tyler." My name came out like a prayer. "You feel incredible. Nothing has ever felt like this."
"Move." I braced my hands on his chest, felt his heart pounding beneath my palms. "I want you to move."
His hips snapped up, and the first thrust punched the air from my lungs. I rose up and slammed back down, meeting him stroke for stroke, our bodies finding a rhythm that built and built. The sound of skin against skin filled the room—wet and obscene—punctuated by groans and gasps and broken words.
"Fuck—yes—harder?—"
Tank's hands tightened on my hips, lifting me, dropping me down onto his cock with increasing force. Each thrust drove deeper, hit harder, sent sparks of pleasure exploding through my entire body. I threw my head back, riding him with everything I had, chasing the edge that was rushing toward me.
This was what I wanted. Not gentle, not careful—this. Tank beneath me, inside me, his hands bruisingmy hips, his cock splitting me open. All the grief and rage and fear, channeled into something raw and real and alive.
"I want you on top of me," I gasped.
Tank understood. He growled, deep in his chest, and then he was flipping us—my back hitting the mattress, my legs wrapped around his waist, his cock still buried inside me. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in so hard the headboard cracked against the wall.
"Like this?" He did it again, harder.
"Yes—fuck—just like that—don't stop?—"
He set a brutal pace, driving into me with everything he had. I clawed at his back, bit his shoulder hard enough to taste copper, urged him on with shameless sounds and filthy words. The bed creaked and groaned beneath us, the headboard banging against the wall in a rhythm that anyone in the compound could probably hear. I didn't care. Let them hear. Let them all know that I was finally,finallygetting what I wanted.
