“Good?” he asked, voice barely more than a grunt.
“Fuck,” I managed, eyes watering. “Yeah.”
He pushed all the way in, burying himself to the hilt, and just held there, letting me get used to the size, the heat, the ownership. He let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my chest, anchoring me, while his other hand found my cock again, jerking me off with the same careful strength.
He started to move, shallow at first, then deeper, each thrust more sure than the last. The angle was perfect—every time he bottomed out, he hit the spot that made my toes curl. He set a rhythm, in, out, squeeze, pull, until I was floating, until the whole world contracted to the pulse of his cock inside me and his palm on my cock.
I could feel the orgasm building, white-hot and inevitable, cresting so fast it almost scared me. I clawed at his forearm, fingers digging into muscle, and he grunted his approval, thrusting harder, rougher.
“Come for me,” he said, the words dark and absolute.
I obeyed. The orgasm hit like a landslide, rippling through me in waves, my cum shooting over his hand and my stomach, soaking the sheets. My ass clenched around him, milking hiscock, and he followed a moment later, burying his face in my hair and groaning my name as he emptied himself inside me.
We stayed like that for a long time, his cock softening but not slipping out, his hands never leaving my skin.
When I finally caught my breath, I laughed—giddy, free, alive in a way that felt brand new. “Jesus, Macon,” I said, voice wrecked. “You trying to kill me?”
He kissed my shoulder, then rolled us to our sides, still locked together, one hand stroking lazy patterns over my stomach. “Just keeping you honest,” he said, and I felt the smile in his voice.
I closed my eyes, letting the afterglow buzz through my veins. I’d never felt more at home, more safe, or more seen than I did in that exact moment—anchored by his arms, his scent, his promise.
Tomorrow, there would be a new battle. Maybe a new war. But right now, in the dark with Macon’s arms around me and his cum leaking out of me, I belonged.
I was home.
I barely had time to come down before Macon shifted behind me, rolling his hips so his cock pressed hard and unyielding against my entrance again. He nudged at my hole, once, twice, teasing, then paused to kiss the back of my neck.
“You ready?” he whispered, as if there was ever a universe in which I’d say no. I might have come mere moments ago, but I’d never say no, not to this connection with him.
“Please,” I said, the word so raw and needy it embarrassed me.
He lined up and pushed in again, slow as a sunrise. I felt every ridge, every pulse, the burn of being stretched open so deliberate it sent shivers up my spine.
I grabbed for the pillow, knuckles going white as I tried to breathe. He paused after the head popped in, giving me a secondto adjust, then advanced another inch, then another, patience incarnate.
“Fuck,” I hissed, forehead pressed to the mattress.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Macon soothed, voice a low rumble against my skin. He wrapped his arms tighter, pulling me back to his chest so I could feel his heart pounding, not just his cock.
His mouth went everywhere—jaw, ear, the slope of my throat—wet kisses marking a trail of ownership down to my shoulder. The sensation was so much, too much, not enough.
He moved in micro-thrusts, every flex of his hips opening me further, forcing my body to admit him. When he was finally all the way in, balls pressed flush to my ass, he just held there, breathing hard into the shell of my ear.
“You feel like home,” he whispered, and something in me broke open. I blinked, and realized there were tears on my face, caught in the pillowcase.
He felt it, somehow. He always did.
“You okay?” he murmured, gentling the pressure, one hand stroking up and down my belly.
“Don’t stop,” I begged. “God, don’t ever stop.”
He began to move, finally, slow and deep, hips grinding in lazy arcs that let me feel every ridge and vein. The angle was perfect—he knew how to find it, how to fuck me until I forgot my own name.
His hand reached around and found my cock again, still sensitive, still leaking. He stroked me in time with his thrusts, every pump of his hand synchronized with the drag of his cock inside me.
His other arm, the one braced under my neck, shifted so his fingers could tweak my nipple, rolling it between forefinger and thumb until my whole chest lit up.
I whimpered, helpless to do anything but take it, to let myself be fucked and touched and held until I was more sensation thanperson. I could feel the aftershocks from my first orgasm, the slow build of a second already coming up behind it.
