10
With a knee nudging between my legs, Brock spreads me wider until I’m fully open for him. I grip the edge of the bar, knuckles white against the sticky wood.
A position I never thought I’d be in. Naked. Bent over the bar I’ve worked behind for two years, waiting for a man to fuck me.
This must be how every girl felt when I had them like this, right before I pushed in. I’ve always been the one in charge, setting the pace. Now I finally know what it’s like to be on the other side. The waiting. The wanting. The giving yourself over completely.
I can’t believe it took me so long to get here.
Brock’s hands grip my ass, thumbs spreading me open, the blunt head of his cock resting against my clenching hole. Not pushing. Just holding there, letting me feel the heat and weight of him. Letting the reality of what’s about to happen sink in. The idea that, in a moment, this big, muscular football player’s going to be buried inside me.
“Still feeling reckless?” he murmurs.
“More than ever.”
He leans forward until his chest is flush against my back. His warm breath brushes my ear. “Good.” And then he starts to press in.
I’m not ready for the burn. My body is fighting the intrusion with everything it’s got. Tensing up. Refusing to yield. I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through the stretch, but it’s not working. It hurts. More than I thought it would.
“Damn,” I grunt, dropping my forehead against the bar. “This is harder than it looks in porn.”
That makes him laugh, a deep rumble that vibrates through my whole body. He stays perfectly still, letting me adjust. “Patience.” His hands smooth over my back in slow circles. “You’re fighting yourself. The trick is to relax into it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Breathe out when I push in. One, two…”
I exhale slowly, and as I do, he pushes forward, the head of his cock popping past that tight ring of muscle with a wet pop.
“Fuuuuck!” My whole body jolts. The burn is sharp, the stretch impossible. My hands fly to the bar, scrabbling for purchase.
“There you go,” Brock murmurs, rubbing my hips. “Hardest part’s over.”
“Yeah?” I pant, forehead slick with sweat against the wood. “Because it feels like the biggest part is still to come.”
“It is,” he says, “but once your body learns how good this feels, it’ll stop fighting.”
That’s the thing, though. I don’t know if my body will learn. I feel split open. Invaded. I’ve always been the one watching the other person fall apart beneath me. I don’t know the first thing about letting go like this.
“Just give it a minute,” Brock says, as if reading my mind. “Let yourself adjust to me. Then you’ll feel it.” He leans in, lips brushing against my shoulder blade. “I promise.”
I take a shaky breath and try to relax. Focus on his hands gripping my hips, the solid warmth of him behind me, the low rumble of his voice. I force my hands to unclench, my shoulders to drop, let the tension bleed out of me.
And slowly, the burn starts to fade. It’s still there, a dull ache, but it’s not the sharp, biting pain it was a moment ago. Underneath it, a new sensation is starting to bloom. A fullness.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised it’s true. “Actually, yeah.”
“Told you.” He presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Ready for more?”
“Give me everything you’ve got.”
“Getting mouthy again.” He laughs. “That means you’re doing just fine.” His grip on my hips tightens, and he starts to push again, giving me an inch at a time.
It’s slow. Torturously slow. Each inch is a battle between my body’s instinct to clench tight and my brain telling it to let go. But as he sinks deeper, the ache of fullness grows into a deep thrum of pleasure I’ve never felt before.
“Halfway there,” he murmurs against my ear.
