"Early." His breath is hot against my neck, his cock hard against my ass. "Go back to sleep."
"Hard to sleep with your fingers inside me."
"Then don't sleep." He withdraws his hand, grips my hip, and notches himself at my entrance. "Just feel."
He pushes in slow. I'm swollen from last night—from every night—but so wet it doesn't matter. My body opens for him like it was made to, and maybe it was. Maybe this is what I was always meant for.
"So tight." He bottoms out, groans against my shoulder. "Every fucking time. Like your pussy was made just for me."
"Maybe it was."
He laughs, low and rough, and starts to move. Long, lazy strokes that make me gasp into the pillow. His hand slides up under my shirt—his shirt, the one I always sleep in—and finds my breast. Rolls my nipple between his fingers until I'm squirming.
"I have to leave for work in an hour," he murmurs. "Think I can make you come twice before then?"
"You can try."
"I don't try." He pinches my nipple, hard, and I cry out. "I succeed."
His hand leaves my breast and slides down my stomach, between my legs. Finds my clit and starts circling. The dual sensation—his cock filling me, his fingers working my clit—is overwhelming. My hips jerk against him, chasing more.
"That's it." His voice is dark, approving. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Take what you need."
I do. I rock back against him, matching his rhythm, feeling him hit something deep inside me with every thrust. The pleasure builds fast—it always does now, my body trained to respond to him—and I'm already close, already climbing.
"Going to come for me?" His fingers speed up. "Going to come on my cock like a good girl?"
"Yes—yes—"
"Then do it. Come. Now."
I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, my whole body clenching around him, his name torn from my throat. He fucks me through it, keeps fucking me after, his pace relentless.
"One," he counts, voice strained. "One more,solnyshko. Give me one more."
"I can't—"
"You can." He pulls out, flips me onto my back, and drives back in before I can catch my breath. This angle is deeper. Harder. He hooks my leg over his shoulder and pounds into me, the headboard slamming against the wall.
"Look at me." He grips my chin, forces my eyes to his. "Look at me while I fill you up."
I look. I can't look away. His ice-blue eyes are blazing, his jaw tight, his whole body coiled with need.
"I'm going to come inside you," he says. "And you're going to come with me. Understand?"
I nod frantically. His thumb finds my clit again, pressing hard, and that's all it takes. I fall apart for the second time, screaming his name, and he follows me over—burying himself to the hilt and flooding me with heat.
We stay like that for a long moment, tangled together, both of us shaking.
"Two," he says finally, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
I shove at his shoulder weakly. "Show-off."
He laughs and kisses me, soft and sweet, completely at odds with the way he just wrecked me.
"I have to shower," he murmurs against my mouth. "Don't wash. I want you wet all day. Want you to feel me every time you move."
"That's filthy."
