“Then turn around,” I said.
He turned around.
The shift of his weight on the mattress, the easy grace of him repositioning. He knelt between my thighs and looked down at me and his chest was heaving and his hair was wrecked and he had never in my life looked like that before, open and undone and entirely certain, and I had to press the back of my head into the pillow and breathe.
He reached for the lube.
He slicked his palm and wrapped both hands around me, slow and thorough, coating me from base to tip with a focused attention that made my toes curl into the mattress. He took histime with it. More time than was strictly necessary for the task, which I suspected was deliberate.
He pressed his thumb along the underside of me, root to crown, and the sound I made confirmed that whatever composure I'd recovered in the last thirty seconds was already gone.
He shifted up onto his knees, one hand still wrapped around my base, and positioned himself above me.
“Look at me,” I said.
He met my eyes.
“If it's too much?—”
“It won't be.” He held my gaze and sank down an inch, and the slick heat of the first contact made both of us go completely still.
He breathed out through his nose. His thighs were trembling faintly either side of mine, and I put both hands on them — not directing, not pushing, just there, the way he'd been there for me — and felt the muscle shake under my palms.
“There you go,” I said, and I barely recognized my own voice. “Take what you can.”
He sank another inch and the sound that left him was low and sustained and pressed against every nerve ending I had. He was so tight around me, tight and hot and gripping, and the restraint of holding still while he worked himself down in small increments was costing me something considerable.
“Fuck,” he said, half a breath.
“I've got you.” I squeezed his thighs. “You're okay. Take your time.”
He did. He worked himself down in slow stages, rocking slightly, adjusting the angle, breathing through each increment with his eyes fixed on my face like I was something he needed to keep in sight. And I watched him take me fully.
The fullness of being completely inside him was staggering. I pressed my molars together and breathed through my nose and kept my hands flat and steady on his thighs and did not move, because he needed a moment and I was going to give it to him even if it ended me.
“Okay,” he said eventually, very quietly. “Okay. That's—” He rolled his hips once, testing, and the sound that came out of him wasn't quiet at all. “That's a lot.”
“Too much?”
“The opposite of too much.” He rolled his hips again, and this time I felt it move through my whole spine. “The complete opposite.”
Then I noticed the state of him — hard and flushed and curved thick against his stomach, leaking at the tip, and the size of him was its own revelation up close. He was substantial. Thick and heavy against his abdomen, and the visual of that while he was seated fully on me did things to my thought process that rendered organized thinking temporarily impossible.
I wrapped my hand around him.
The sound he made was immediate and punched-out, hips bucking forward into my grip before he caught himself, which meant he tightened around me at the same time, and we both made sounds simultaneously that bounced off the hotel ceiling.
“Rook—”
“I've got you,” I said. “Move.”
He moved.
The rhythm he found was slow at first, rolling rather than bouncing, his hands braced on my chest and his head tipped back and his throat working around sounds he'd stopped trying to contain. I stroked him in time with his hips, matching the pace he set, and felt him shudder every time the angle hit something that made his breath snag. His thighs were doing real work on either side of me, the muscle in them flexing with eachroll of his hips, and the lace border of the stockings pressed against my flanks and the contrast of the delicate fabric and the very real physical effort of what he was doing was almost funny in the best way.
“You feel incredible,” I said, and my voice had gone low and stripped of everything performative. “You know that? The way you take me.” I tightened my grip on him and he moaned openly. “Look at you.”
He looked at me instead, dropping his chin, and his eyes were dark and blown and completely undefended.
