Sandro takes his time. He doesn’t rush to strip me bare or throw me back onto the bed and claim me. Instead, he explores me, his mouth tracing a path across my skin, his hands mapping me like I’m something worth learning. Every brush of his calloused fingers leaves a trail of fire, every squeeze of his hand makes my body ache in ways I didn’t know it could. And as he palms my breast, liquid heat rushes between my thighs.
By the time his hand slides lower, gliding across the planes of my stomach to slip beneath the waistline of my panties, I’m trembling for an entirely different reason. His fingers easily find what he’s searching for, and the shock of sensation as he brushes between the peak of my thighs rips a whimper from my throat.
My knees buckle, and I tense, my back going rigid as I cling to his powerful frame.
His arm tightening like iron around my waist so I won’t fall, Sandro lifts his head, and his wicked lips leave my skin as his stormy eyes lock on mine again. “Relax,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”
Gasps rush from me as I give a jerky nod, and I try—God, I try—to release my death grip on his shoulders. But it’s entirely too overwhelming—the way his fingers move, stroking, circling, pushing me toward something I don’t understand but desperately want to.
My body responds faster than my mind can process, hips shifting, breath breaking, soft sounds spilling from me without permission. I’m mortified by the noises, but Sandro’s eyes darken with satisfaction every time he pulls one from me, like he’s pleased by the way I’m unraveling.
Pressure builds inside me, tight and unbearable, and I shudder violently as it breaks suddenly and without warning. My body convulses, my sex throbbing beneath his touch as pleasure crashes over me in waves so intense I cry out.
I’ve never felt anything like it. I didn’t know such a thing was even possible. But as stars explode behind my eyelids, I feel oddly weightless, almost fuzzy with a tingling relief that oozes through my veins like honey. When it’s over, I sag against him, weak and dazed, my chest heaving.
He kisses me again, softer now, as if rewarding me. Then he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Now you’re ready for me.”
The words send a new shiver through me—half fear, half anticipation. My gaze flicks downward, and when he finally sheds the towel wrapped around his waist, I nearly gasp. He’s… enormous. Intimidating in a whole new way. My stomach knots with both dread and awe, and the thought crosses my mind that I could never possibly take him inside me.
But after the care he just showed me, after the way he drew pleasure from me before asking for anything himself, it makes me want to try. And I cling to that determination as he slowly lowers me onto the bed, his body covering mine like a protective shield.
“You’re safe,” he says, his voice thick as his fingers curl around the waistline of my panties and slowly draw them down my hips and legs.
I nod, unable to speak as I watch him, and when he settles on top of me, his hips slowly spreading my quivering thighs, I’m confident he must be able to hear my heartbeat hammering against my ribs.
“Breathe, Evi,” Sandro commands.
Despite the gravity of the moment, I bite back a giggle that borders on hysteria when I recall my mother telling me to do the same thing just this morning. I nearly snapped at her for it, but now, I appreciate the reminder. And I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, allowing oxygen to flood back to my brain as I try once more to relax.
“Good girl,” Sandro murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, and the praise positively liquifies me.
Then my stomach plummets as I feel his hard length pressing between my folds. He enters me slowly, carefully, his thick girth stretching and filling me in ways that make my breath catch. I whimper at the jarringly foreign sensation. It burns at first, sharp and startling, and for a moment, my flight response triggers as I tense with the urge to retreat.
Sandro pauses, his thumb stroking soothing circles against my hip as he gives me time to adjust. His warm breaths wash over me, as if he’s containing himself with great effort, and his gaze locks on mine as though silently urging me to trust him.
And slowly, the discomfort melts into something else.
Fullness, heat, a connection so deep it rattles me.
I swallow hard, my tongue darting out to wet my suddenly dry lips, and as I hold his gaze, I give a jerky nod to signal I’m ready.
When he begins to move, each stroke deliberate and controlled, the pleasure starts to build again, this time heavier, richer, threaded with intimacy that makes my chest ache. I cling to him, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.
My body meets his, and I move with him, every thrust breaking something open inside me—walls I didn’t know I’d built crumble in the face of this intense, overwhelming closeness.
Tears sting my eyes, but not from pain, from the realization that I’m not just enduring this. I’m not just fulfilling a duty. I’m… enjoying it. No one ever told me sex could feel like this. No one ever told me it could be this consuming, this powerful. It’s more than physical—it’s emotional, raw, a tether binding me to Sandro in ways I can’t put into words. My heart races, my body trembling, but it’s different now—not fear, not nerves. This is something else entirely.
“Evi,” Sandro groans my name against my ear, the sound rough and desperate.
Something about it makes me think that he might just feel this too—and that’s all it takes to push me over the edge again. My body tightens around him, shattering into another climax.
God, if the first one felt good, it’s nothing compared to the euphoria that consumes me now. Tidal waves of ecstasy crash over me, threatening to drag me under. I couldn’t stop the scream that rips from me even if I tried. It’s all I can do to bury my face against Sandro’s chest as I ride out the breathtaking pleasure that burns through my body like wildfire.
I shudder and quake, so lost in the moment I can’t do anything but feel my body rippling around his hard length, throbbing and squeezing until I’m weak with relief. Collapsing back onto the sheets, I breathe heavily, stunned by my overwhelming response to having Sandro inside me.
He’s stopped moving, his body stilling above me, his muscles straining with effort, his cock rock-hard and swollen as he remains buried to the hilt. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. But if I have, I’m not sure what—or even if I care. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I would sell my soul to feel that again.
Sandro lifts his head just enough to look at me, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it—and to my utter astonishment, he smiles. It’s a sinful kind of smile, full of molten heat and desire that melts me to the core.
