"Delicious," I inform her. "But I am far from finished with you yet, Chantel. Not even remotely close."
I allow my gaze to rake deliberately across her flushed, trembling form—still sprawled across the countertop with her thighs parted and glistening, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath. Her undone state, so thoroughly wrecked by my mouth and hands, sends another surge of that primal, possessive heat coursing through my veins. My cock throbs with renewed intensity at the visual alone.
I reach out slowly, deliberately, letting my massive hand trail up the inside of her thigh, watching as goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. She whimpers softly, still sensitive, still vulnerable. Perfect.
"We are only just beginning," I murmur.
She reaches for my belt with trembling hands, and this time I allow it, watching with dark satisfaction as she works the leather free and begins on the button and zipper of my slacks. The fabric is straining obscenely across my erection, and when she finally manages to work everything open and my cock springs free, her sharp inhale of shock makes me grin.
"That is not going to fit," she says bluntly, staring at my length with wide eyes, and I have to admit she has a valid concern given the significant size difference between us.
I am proportional to the rest of my frame, which means I am substantially larger than a human male, thick enough that her small hand cannot close fully around my girth when she reaches out tentatively to touch. The head is flushed dark green and already leaking, and when her thumb swipes through the moisture gathering at the tip, I have to brace myself against the counter on either side of her to keep from buckling.
"It will fit," I assure her roughly, my hips jerking forward involuntarily as she begins to stroke with unpracticed enthusiasm. "But we will take it slowly. I will not hurt you, Chantel. I will make sure you are ready, that you are wet and open and desperate before I even attempt to push inside."
"I'm already desperate," she argues breathlessly, squeezing experimentally and watching my face contort with pleasure. "I want you inside me. Want to feel the stretch, want to be so full I can’t breathe."
Her filthy words, delivered in that breathy, uncertain voice, nearly undo me completely. I capture both her wrists again, pinning them to me, and lean down to capture her mouth in a bruising kiss.
"Wrap your legs around my waist," I command against her lips, and she complies immediately, her thighs bracketing my hips and her ankles locking at the small of my back.
I lift her effortlessly off the counter, one arm banding around her lower back while my other hand grips my cock, positioning myself at her entrance. She is slick and hot against my tip, and it takes every ounce of control I possess not to simply thrust forward and bury myself to the hilt in her welcoming heat.
"Breathe," I instruct her in that low, measured tone that settles something restless in her chest, pressing forward with deliberate slowness and feeling the initial resistance of her body as it confronts the unprecedented stretch. "Relax and breathe. Let your body adjust to me. There is no rush, Chantel. We have all the time you need."
I hold myself perfectly still once I have advanced another fraction of an inch, my jaw clenched so tightly I fear my teeth might crack, every muscle in my massive frame locked down with the herculean effort of restraint. The sensation of her wrapped around me, hot and tight and impossibly perfect, is nearly my undoing, but I force myself to remain motionless, to be the steady anchor she needs while her body learns to accommodate mine. My free hand splays across her lower back, a grounding weight, and I feel her gradually release the tension she has been holding, her breathing evening out into something more measured.
She whimpers, her face buried against my neck, and I feel her deliberately relaxing her muscles. I push forward another inch, feeling her stretch impossibly wide around me, and the tight, wet heat threatens to rob me of what little control remains.
"More," she gasps, her nails digging crescents into my shoulders. "Please, Faugh, I need more."
I oblige, working myself deeper in small, careful increments, giving her body time to accommodate my size. By the time I am fully seated inside her, we are both shaking, and I can feel her pulse fluttering frantically around my cock.
"Move," she demands, her voice breaking on the word. "Please move, I need?—"
I pull out slowly, feeling every inch of her grip on my shaft, and then thrust back in with more force. She cries out, her head falling back, and I take the opportunity to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to her exposed throat while establishing a deep, demanding rhythm.
The sounds filling the kitchen are obscene—the wet slap of our bodies coming together, her breathless gasps and moans, my rough growls of pleasure. I angle my hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her vision blur, and her cries increase in volume and desperation.
"That is right," I rumble against her skin. "Take my cock. Take everything I give you and beg for more."
"More," she sobs obediently. "Harder, Faugh, please, I can take it?—"
I shift my grip, one hand supporting her weight while the other slides between our bodies to find the sensitive bundle of nerves where we are joined. The moment I make contact, her entire body goes rigid, and she comes with a sharp scream that echoes off the kitchen walls.
The rhythmic clenching of her inner muscles around my cock triggers my own release, and I bury myself as deep as physicallypossible as I empty myself inside her with a roar that rattles the dishes in the cabinets. The orgasm seems to go on forever, wave after wave of intense pleasure that whites out my vision and makes my knees threaten to buckle.
We stay locked together, both of us gasping for breath, her body still wrapped tightly around mine as aftershocks ripple through us both. I carry her carefully to the counter and set her down gently, my softening cock slipping free, as evidence of our joining begins to leak down her thighs.
"Mine," I rumble again, unable to stop myself from pressing the claim even as rational thought begins to return.
"Yours," she agrees, her voice wrecked and satisfied, and she reaches up to cup my face between her small hands, pulling me down for a surprisingly tender kiss.
The apartment lights flicker suddenly, once, twice, and then die completely, plunging us into darkness. A massive clap of thunder shakes the building hard enough that the dishes rattle violently in the cabinets, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the sharp crack of a transformer exploding.
9
FAUGH
