I can barely think, let alone speak. Taio gets me so wet it feels like a trick of the body, a secret hack no one warned me about.
When he’s finally satisfied—when my body’s humming on some secret frequency only he can read—he kneels in front of my legs. With his palms cradling my calves, he gently folds both legs up, resting my feet on his chest. The look in his eyes, desperate and adoring and a little bit awed, might have made me self-conscious once. Now it just fuels the hunger.
He lines himself up, pressing the head against me, and waits. Like he wants another green light, a final “I want this.” I curl my toes against his chest and nod, once, and he exhales through a shaky smile.
I brace for pain, or at least for the kind of discomfort all the articles warn you about, but when he starts to push in, it’s not pain I feel. It’s pressure, new and stretching my limits, but it’s not bad. It’s intoxicating in its intensity, a sensation that makes me arch against him, greedy for more. He works his way in slow, watching my face the whole time, eyes absorbing every wince and shiver and gasp like he’s the world’s most devoted scientist and I’m his only subject.
He pushes in deeper,deeper, with infinite restraint, and every millimeter feels like a homecoming to a place I never knew existed. I clutch the blankets at my sides and let my head fall back, the ceiling of our fort a blur of golden light. His thumbs stroke gentle circles as he buries himself, filling me until I’m stretched tight around him, until the world contracts to the two of us and the hush of our joined breath.
I’m so wet the slide is frictionless, and when he finally bottoms out, face flickering with awe and disbelief, he hovers there, motionless, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. For a long second, neither of us moves, lost in the intensity. My bodypulses around him, an unspoken plea, and when I squeeze my thighs together, his composure cracks.
“Fuck. The things I want to do to you,” he groans, low and guttural, and starts to move—slow at first, barely rocking his hips, as if he’s scared I’ll break. The sensation is more than I can process, every stroke measured and mindful, his cock gliding in and out with a relentless, careful rhythm. I can feel him shaking, fighting the urge to go faster, to claim me with the same hunger he showed with his mouth.
“Wait,” I beg.
He drags out of me, slightly panicked. “Hurts?” he asks.
I shake my head, heart thundering. My fingers tremble as I reach for the latex barrier between us, peeling it away with deliberate slowness. His breath hitches as my fingertips graze his heated flesh, the condom discarded within our nest of blankets. I guide him back to my entrance, slick and aching. “I think it’ll feel better like this. Is that okay?”
“That’s more than okay.” He watches my face—eyes grazing my parted lips, the flush I’m certain is staining my neck. He enters again, this time more daringly. Plunging as deep as he can go in one stroke. My walls stretch taut around his bare flesh as he claims me, completely. I’m drunk on it. I’m high on it. I am completely addicted to this, tohim.
He pumps into me, harder now, the carefulness giving way to something reckless and urgent. I anchor myself to his biceps, fingernails digging in, as he rocks into me with increasing force; every thrust sets off a chain reaction inside me, friction and fullness and the sweet ache of surrender. I cry out—unrestrained, louder than I thought I’d be—and he answers with a guttural groan that vibrates through his chest into mine. His rhythm falters as he grips my hips harder, fingers digging into soft flesh, the tendons in his neck straining as the last threads of his control snap completely.
My body’s already so primed I don’t think I can last, but still, the release when it hits is shocking—ferocious and raw, a detonation that burns through my core and leaves me sobbing his name into the hollow of his throat. He comes right after, pulling out in the nick of time. His warm cum coats my clit like honey, a sinfully sweet sensation that makes my toes curl in appreciation. We’re breathless, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us held together by sweat and heat and the shared knowledge that we will never be the same.
We collapse, half tangled in the blankets, and for a while neither of us moves. I listen to our breath, ragged and synched, and trace slow circles on his chest, grounding myself in the realness of his body.
Eventually Taio rolls onto his back, tugging me along so I sprawl across his strong, damp skin, my face pressed to the side of his neck. I can feel the thump of his pulse, wild and uncalibrated, as he cages me in with one muscled arm.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.” I’ve lost my bones. I’m floating. “That was…”
“Good?”
“I don’t have words.”
He smiles—that warm, genuine one that transforms his whole face. “Same.”
“Ready for more? Or do you need a minute?” I tease, but the shiver that skates up my spine is sharp, a little too real. I’m unraveled, nerves shot through, every muscle limp, splayed in these blankets as if the fabric itself has fused me to the mattress. I’m done. Stripped bare in a way I didn’t know was possible. I need more than a few minutes. I need a hibernation.
“Insatiable little thing. I’ve opened Pandora’s box, haven’t I?”
I chuckle against him. “Oh, you definitely handled my box.”
My head bounces off his chest, his laughter deep and roaring.
“I feel so full,” I say, my breath tickling his nipple. “Is sex always so…grounding? I feel like everything is so right. Is that the sex haze everyone talks about?”
His chin rustles the top of my hair as he shakes his head. “No, this is what it feels like when you’re with the right person.”
“Like you felt with Alaina?”
He jostles my shoulder, a silent warning to not invite our ghosts into our sanctuary. “No. Like I feel with you, Tweety.”
Hmmm. I cuddle closer into him. He misinterprets my shivering for being cold, so he reaches to the side of me and pulls up a blanket, covering me and the intimate parts of him.
“Did you stash your book in here, or just condoms?”
