He stands and strips off the rest of his clothes and when I see him fully bare for the first time my breath catches because he's beautiful and intimidating in equal measure.
I’m going to break in half.
He sees my face and stops. "We don't have to?—"
"Get back here," I say, and reach for him.
He comes back to the bed and settles between my legs, braced on his forearms, and I can feel him against me, hard and ready, and my body is already trying to pull him in.
"Slow," he says, and there's iron control in his voice. "We're going to go slow."
He lines himself up and pushes in just slightly, just the tip, and I gasp at the pressure, at the stretch, at the foreign feeling of someone inside me for the first time.
"Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe, Princess."
I breathe and he pushes in a little more and the burn intensifies but underneath it is something else, something that feels right, that feels like this is exactly where he's supposed to be.
"You're doing so good," he says, his voice strained with the effort of going slow. "So fucking good for me."
He pushes in further and I whimper and his hand finds mine, threading our fingers together, holding tight.
"Almost there," he says. "You're taking me so well, baby. So perfect."
One more slow push and he's fully seated and we both go still, breathing hard, adjusting to the feeling of being completely joined.
"How are you doing?" he asks.
"Full," I manage. "So full."
"Good full or bad full?"
"Good." I roll my hips experimentally and we both groan. "Very good."
He starts to move, slow and controlled, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a patience that makes my chest ache.
"More," I whisper.
"You sure?"
"More, Enzo. Please."
He gives me more, his rhythm steady and deliberate, and the burn fades into pure pleasure, into pressure building low and hot, into the feeling of him everywhere, filling me, surrounding me, consuming me.
"You feel so good," he says roughly. "Better than anything I imagined and I've imagined this a thousand times."
I wrap my legs around his waist and the angle shifts and he hits something inside me that makes me cry out, sharp and sudden.
"There?" He does it again. "That's the spot, isn't it, Princess?"
"Yes, oh god, yes?—"
He keeps hitting it, over and over, controlled and precise, and I'm climbing again, higher and faster this time, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"I can feel you getting close," he says. "Can feel you tightening around me. You're going to come on my cock, aren't you?"
"Yes." The word comes out broken. "Yes, I'm so close?—"
"Come for me," he says. "Let me feel it."
