I shake my head, overwhelmed. “I can't?—”
“You can,” he insists, voice gentle but firm. “For me.”
His fingers move with devastating precision, he clearly watched me carefully building the pleasure again while his other hand pins my wrists above my head. The sensation of being restrained and stimulated sends jolts racing through my veins.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I'm begging for.
“I've got you,” he promises, pressing his forehead to mine. “Let me take care of you.”
I surrender completely, giving myself over to his touch, his control. My second orgasm builds faster than the first, crashing over me with such intensity.
Troy releases my wrists to cradle my face, kissing me through it, his murmurs of praise washing over me like a balm.
When I finally come back to myself, trembling and spent, he's looking at me with such raw tenderness that my chest aches.
“Turn over,” he whispers against my ear, his voice a delicious command that sends shivers down my spine.
I comply without hesitation, rolling onto my stomach. His hands glide down my back, appreciative and warm.
“On your knees,” he instructs, helping me position myself.
The vulnerability of it—face down, ass up—should make me self-conscious, but there's something freeing in surrendering to him like this. I feel his weight shift on the mattress as he moves behind me, his hands tracing the curve of my spine.
“You're perfect,” he murmurs, palms spreading over my hips. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I say, arching my back slightly. “Please, Troy.”
I hear the telltale sound of a condom wrapper, then feel the blunt pressure of him at my entrance. He eases in slowly, giving me time to adjust to the stretch, his grip on my hips tightening.
“God, Delilah,” he groans, voice strained. “You feel incredible.”
When he's fully seated, he pauses, leaning forward to press a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Tell me when.”
I push back against him in response, a wordless plea for more, and he responds with a slow, measured thrust that draws a moan from deep in my throat.
“You like that?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint.
“Yes,” I gasp, fingers curling into the sheets as he begins to move in earnest.
This is what was missing before—this feeling of being utterly possessed, completely filled. I've never understood why people make such a fuss about sex, why they risk relationships and reputations for it. It had always seemed so... mechanical. Butthis—the way Troy is claiming me, the way he hits places inside me I didn't know could feel this good—thisis what all the fuss is about.
Each thrust is deliberate, powerful, his hands gripping my hips with possessive strength. The angle is exquisite, hitting places inside me that make stars burst behind my eyelids. I've never been this loud during sex, never felt the need to give voice to my pleasure, but now sounds I barely recognize as my own are spilling from my lips.
Every other guy I've slept with has been performance over substance—concerned with how they looked, how long they lasted, like they were following some porn-directed script. But Troy moves with genuine hunger, like he's chasing my pleasure as much as his own. I can feel how much he wants me in each snap of his hips, each groan he doesn't try to suppress, each tightening of his fingers on my skin.
The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by our shared breathing and occasional moans. My knees dig into the mattress. I'm aware of everything—the slight sheen of sweat forming between us, the masculine scent of him, the way he fills me so completely I can feel him in all of me.
“You're taking me so well,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “So fucking perfect for me.”
The praise liquefies my insides, pushing me higher. I've never wanted to be perfect for anyone before, never cared whether I was “good” in bed. Sex was just another thing to do, another experience to have.
“Fuck, you feel amazing.” Troy groans, one hand sliding up my spine to tangle in my hair. He pulls gently, arching my back further, changing the angle just enough to make me cry out.
“There?” he asks, voice tight with concentration.
“Yes, there—don't stop,” I plead, pushing back to meet his thrusts.
His pace increases, the careful control beginning to fray as pleasure builds. His grip tightens, fingers digging into myflesh in a way that borders on painful but only heightens every sensation.
