Slow.
Inch by inch.
The stretch makes me gasp, my knees falling wider, my back arching to take more of him.I feel everything.Every thick inch of him sliding into me like he belongs there.Like I’ve been waiting to be filled this way my entire life, and didn’t know it until now.
His eyes stay on mine.Dark.Blown wide.Wrecked.
“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his voice fraying at the edges.“Taking me so fucking well.You feel how tight you are?How good you feel wrapped around me?”
I nod, but it’s useless.
My mouth’s open, but no sound comes out.I can’t speak.Can’t move.I can only feel—his cock stretching me open, claiming every inch of space inside me like he’s laying bricks in a foundation we’ll build the rest of our lives on.
He slides in until my breath stutters, until the stretch steals the air from my lungs.
“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to mine.“So soft.So warm.So fucking mine.”
I whimper—caught between the praise and the fullness, the way his words hit the raw, open place inside me that always believed I was too much or not enough.
But here?
Here, I’m his.
He pulls out just enough to make me ache, then pushes back in—slow, deep thrusts that make the bed creak and my legs tremble.Each movement is worship.A promise.A claim.
“Gonna fuck you slow, just like you asked,” he groans, his pace dragging, his eyes never leaving mine.“Want you to feel every stroke.Want you to know what it means when I come inside you.”
My breath stutters.My pussy clenches around him hard.
Yes.God, yes.
He leans closer, lips brushing my ear.
“You want that, don’t you?”he whispers.“Want me to fill you up, even though you’re already carrying?You want me to come deep inside this sweet pussy—like I’m planting something that belongs to us too?”
My whole body shakes.
The thought of him coming inside me—of being filled with his seed, not for pregnancy, but for love—makes me moan into his mouth.
“That’s it,” he growls, his rhythm faltering.“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me like you want to keep me.”
I do.I want him so deep he stays there.Want him to lose himself in me and never pull out again.
He thrusts again—deep, slow, grinding—and I lose track of where I end, and he begins.
I can feel it building.
The need.The ache.The pleasure curling in my spine and blooming behind my eyes.I’m going to break for him.
And I want to.
Monty’s rhythm slows again—intentional.Controlled.Just enough to keep me on the edge.
Slow enough to make my thighs shake, and my hands claw at his back like I can pull him deeper if I just try hard enough.
But he doesn’t give me more.
Not yet.
