He slides in with one smooth thrust, and I gasp at how different it feels—how my body yields to him now, accepting rather than resisting. The discomfort is there, but muted, overshadowed by new sensations that ripple outward from where we’re joined.
“Mhmm, look at you, wife,” he murmurs, his expression intense as he watches my face. “Taking your husband’s cock so well now.”
Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist, my ankles crossing at the small of his back. The movement pulls him deeper, and we both groan at the sensation.
His hands brace beside my head, caging me beneath his powerful body as he begins to move. He starts with slow, measured thrusts that gradually increase in depth.
“How does it feel?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control.
“Good,” I breathe, surprised to find it’s true. “Different, but good.”
His smile is dark and possessive. “It’s about to get better.”
One hand slides between our bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive bud again, circling it with practiced precision. The dual sensations—his hardness stretching me from within, his thumb working magic from without—send shivers racing across my skin.
My eyes flutter closed. “Raffaele,” I moan.
“No,” he commands sharply. “Eyes open. Look at me while I fuck you.”
The crude word should shock me, but instead it sends a jolt of heat straight to where we’re joined. I obey, forcing my heavy lids open to meet his gaze.
“That’s my good girl,” he praises, his hand leaving my center to slide up my body, cupping my breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipple with just enough pressure to make me gasp. “So responsive. So perfect.”
His hips maintain their steady rhythm, his thick length dragging against places inside me I never knew existed. The initial soreness fades more with each stroke, giving way to a building pleasure that makes my inner walls clench around him.
Raffaele lowers his head, capturing my mouth in a kiss that’s all consuming—tongue demanding entrance, teeth nipping at my lower lip.
I taste myself on his tongue—tangy, metallic, primal—and rather than repulsing me, it sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through me. His kiss devours me as thoroughly as his body claims mine, leaving no part of me untouched.
His hand slides to my hip, gripping hard enough that I know I’ll find fingerprint bruises tomorrow. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.
“Raffaele,” I gasp against his mouth as he shifts angles slightly, hitting something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Let go, Alina,” he growls with satisfaction, driving into that spot repeatedly. “Let me feel you come around my cock.”
His words push me closer to the edge. His thumb returns to my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. The pleasure builds and coils tighter, a tension mounting in my lower belly that begs for release.
“I can’t…” I whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity.
“You can,” he insists. “And you will. Now.”
As if my body obeys his commands before my mind can process them, the tension snaps. I cry out, my back arching off the rug, inner walls clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses.
The orgasm is different from the ones his fingers and mouth gave me earlier—deeper, more all-consuming, radiating outward from where we’re joined to the very tips of my fingers and toes.
Raffaele doesn’t slow his pace through my climax; if anything, his thrusts become more determined, prolonging the waves of pleasure until I’m gasping for breath, my nails scoring red lines down his muscled back.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze devouring every flicker of expression on my face. “So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
Just as the sensitivity becomes almost too much, he shifts again, changing the angle. His hand leaves my hip to grasp my thigh, pushing it higher, opening me further to his penetration. The new position allows him to slide impossibly deeper, and I moan at the exquisite fullness.
“Again,” he demands, his voice ragged now, control beginning to fray. “One more time.”
I don’t think I can—my body feels boneless, spent—but when he continues to play every erogenous zone on my body like an instrument, I’m powerless to stop it. Not that I’d want to. Not really. Despite the soreness and exhaustion, I crave this.
His thrusts grow faster, harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with our labored breathing and the crackle of the fire.
The wet sounds of our joining should embarrass me, but they only feed the growing tension. His hard length drives into me with relentless precision, striking that perfect spot with every thrust.
