“I, um…” Color rose into his pointed ears, and he stopped touching his cock. “We could wait.”
“Absolutely not. Give me that cock and give it to me now.”
His low laugh rang out. “Yes, ma’am.”
I reached out, fascination and arousal twined tight in my core as I curled my fingers around him. He hissed softly, his hips jerking forward involuntarily at my touch.
“Easy,” I said, stroking him slowly, feeling the texture of the coorails beneath my palm. Each bead rolled under my fingers, and I watched his face transform with pleasure. “I want to explore this first.”
His breathing grew ragged as I traced the spiraling pattern, learning the shape of him. “Carla, if you keep doing that…”
“What? This?” I applied gentle pressure to one of the larger beads near his tip, and he groaned, his free hand slamming against the wall.
“Stars above, Becken.” I tilted my head, my eyes locked on his as I continued my slow exploration. “That’s not a cock. That’s a promise.”
His breath caught. “Say that again and you’re not making it out of this hall for at least another hour.”
“Maybe I don’t want to make it out,” I whispered, guiding him closer. The heat radiating from his skin made me ache with want.
He leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was all hunger and restraint warring against each other. When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide. “I need to be inside you, but I need to go slow. The coorails… They can be intense.”
“Show me,” I breathed, tightening my legs around his waist.
He braced one hand against the wall beside my head, his other arm supporting my weight as he positioned himself at my entrance. The first touch of him against me sent shivers through my body. I could feel the texture of the beads, foreign and thrilling.
“Just the tip first,” he said, his voice strained with control. “Tell me how it feels.”
He pressed forward barely an inch, and I gasped at the sensation. The beads created a texture unlike anything I’d ever experienced, each one a point of exquisite pressure.
“More,” I said, digging my fingers into his sides.
Slowly, so slowly it was almost torture, he sank deeper. Each bead that passed inside me drew a soft cry from my lips, and his jaw clenched with the effort of holding back.
“Still good?” he asked, pausing halfway.
“Perfect,” I whispered, amazed at how my body was adapting, stretching to accommodate not just his size but the incredible sensation of the coorails.
When he finally joined with me completely, the stretch of him inside me was a breaking open, like hearing music where there’d only been silence. The vibrating beads pressed against sensitive spots I didn’t even know I had, creating waves of sensation that made me tremble.
“Carla.” My name was a reverent whisper as he stilled, giving me time to adjust. “Are you…?”
“Amazing,” I breathed. “You feel amazing.”
His breath hitched, then came out in a groan, his restraint threatening to shatter. He rolled his hips, a slow rhythm that teased more than satisfied, each retreat making me whimper, each return making me gasp. I struggled between the overwhelming desire to pull him deeper and the need to tell him to slow down so I could savor each heady sensation.
Every movement became a lesson in tension, a study in pleasure held just out of reach. He flexed inside me with every stroke, his hips rolling with barely leashed power. The ridged beads of the coorails sparked new sensations where I hadn’t known nerves existed, dragging moans from my throat that sounded feral.
“Damn, Becken,” I panted, stroking his chest and sides as he curled forward to take my nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing, tongue stroking, every bit of him worshiping my body.
“I knew you’d feel like this,” he rasped against my skin. “I’ve thought about it too many times before sleep. Imagined how you’d tighten around me, how you’d fall apart for me.” He thrust deeper, slower, grinding until I cried out.
My body arched instinctively, my legs tightening around his waist. He filled me utterly, delicious bliss everywhere. Our hips moved together in a rhythm that felt primal, inevitable, like gravity had pulled us into this exact shape.
“More,” I begged. “Faster.”
“Whatever you want,” he said, his voice rough as gravel before he gave in.
Each pounding thrust hit deeper, truer, the coorails sending sparks of sensation with every drag. He followed every sound I made with a kiss, every plea with more heat.
