I nod, panting.“Yes—Cally, fuck—yes.”
“Yeah?”His fingers curl up inside me, pressing right against my prostate.I moan and grip the sheets like they’re the only thing holding me together.“You want me to fill you up?Want me to get in deep and stay there, pumping you full until your body knows who owns it?”
I gasp, broken open, wrecked by the way he talks to me—like my desire is sacred and filthy all at once.
“Please,” I choke out.“Fuck, stop teasing.I want it.I want you to fill me.Want your cum in me, want it leaking out after, want to feel it when I walk.”
His groan vibrates against my cock.He pulls back just enough to drag his tongue along the length of me, eyes flicking up—blown wide, hot, and fucking hungry.
“You’re perfect like this.Letting me have you.Letting me ruin this perfect fucking hole, like it’s mine.”
Another stretch of his fingers and I swear I might come just from that.
His mouth keeps going—lips slick, jaw moving like he’s starving for the taste of me—as if he needs this just as badly as I do.He pulls me back in deep, sucks with pressure that makes my knees nearly give.
And he watches me while he does it.
Eyes locked on mine, reading every twitch, every broken gasp, like he’s cataloging what wrecks me the most so he can do it again.And again.
And again.
“Cally, baby,” I breathe.“Please.”
He looks up at me, lips slick, eyes blazing with hunger and something softer underneath.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you inside me,” I say, voice breaking.“I want you to fuck me.Please.”
His jaw tightens.His grip firms.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.“I know.”
He stands, hands strong on my hips, guiding me back toward the bed like he’s already claimed me.
And maybe he has.
His grip shifts—one palm sliding around to the small of my back, the other firm at my hip—steadying me as I sink down.
Then he nudges me to turn.
“On your stomach first,” he murmurs.
I crawl forward, heart hammering, cock aching, and stretch out across the bed.The sheets are cool beneath my skin, my legs parting instinctively—vulnerable.Offered.I feel him move behind me—feel the bed dip under his knees as he climbs up and straddles my thighs.
He takes his time.Palms dragging down my back.Kissing the curve of my spine.Thumbs spreading my cheeks to admire what’s already his.
“Look at you,” he says, voice thick.“Perfect fucking hole.You’re so open for me.”
A slick finger circles me again—just enough to tease.To remind me he’s in control.
Then he orders, “Up on your knees.”
I groan but obey.
I push up onto my forearms, spread my thighs wider.My head drops low, my chest pressed to the sheets, spine arched for him.I know what this looks like—offered up like a prize.I want him to see it.I need him to.
Cally kneels behind me.One hand spreads me open again.The other strokes himself once, twice.I can hear the slick slide of lube.The pause.The pressure.
