“Jax—please—”
He answered by focusing harder—drawing her clit between his lips with insistent pressure, tongue flicking fast and firm.
The orgasm built like a slow-rising wave—deeper, fuller than anything she’d ever felt. It crested without warning, crashing through her in long, rolling pulses. She cried out—sharp, broken—back arching off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as she came undone. He didn’t stop. Kept his mouth on herthrough every shudder, every aftershock, tongue gentle now but still moving, drawing it out until she was gasping, oversensitive, weakly tugging at his hair.
Only then did he lift his head. Lips shiny. Chin wet. Smug little smile curling his mouth.
“Told you,” he rasped, voice wrecked.
She stared at him, dazed. Chest heaving. Legs still trembling.
No one had ever taken that long with her. No one had ever made her come like that—slow, thorough, devastating.
He reached for the bedside drawer—condom packet crinkling. He tore it open with his teeth, rolled it on with practiced ease, stroking himself once, twice, eyes locked on hers as he watched her catch her breath.
Then he settled between her thighs again. Braced on one forearm above her. The blunt, thick head of him nudged her entrance, sliding through her slickness, teasing without pushing in yet.
“Still with me?” he asked quietly, voice gravel-rough.
She nodded. Reached up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing his lower lip—still slick from her. “Yeah.”
He kissed her then—slow, deep, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She moaned into his mouth, hips lifting instinctively toward him.
Only when she was arching, needy, did he start to push in.
Slow. So slow.
The stretch was intense—almost too much at first. She sucked in a breath, fingers tightening on his shoulders, nails biting skin.
He paused halfway, forehead pressed to hers. “Breathe.”
She did. Exhaled shakily. Nodded.
He sank deeper—inch by careful inch—watching her face the whole time. When he was fully seated, hips flush against hers, they both groaned. The fullness was overwhelming. Perfect. He stayed buried inside her, unmoving, letting her adjust, letting her feel every thick inch of him stretching her open.
After a long moment she rocked her hips—small, testing movements.
He groaned, low and ragged. “Fuck, Aria… you feel so good.”
That was all the encouragement she needed.
She rocked again—harder this time. He matched her. Slow, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. Long withdrawals followed by deep, deliberate slides back in. Each one made her gasp. Each one built the heat higher.
The burn eased into pure, liquid pleasure. Sharp-edged. Addictive.
“More,” she whispered against his mouth.
He gave it to her.
The pace built gradually—deeper, firmer. Skin slapping softly against skin, breath mingling. She hooked her legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him in tighter with every thrust.
He shifted his weight. Caught one of her thighs in a firm grip. Lifted it high, hooking her knee over his shoulder.
The new angle changed everything.
He sank impossibly deeper. Hit a spot inside her that made her see white. Each thrust now pressed right where she needed it most.
She cried out—half surprise, half bliss. “There—god, right there—”
