Then he’s straight back inside me.
All the way.
Not stopping until he’s balls deep.
“That’s it,” he says, voice ragged. “You can breathe now.”
His first few strokes are measured, more cautious than I ever thought Tek would be.
I can tell he’s fighting the urge to go harder.
His focus is intense—the way he’s studying my face for every twitch, wince, or gasp. I want to tell him to fuck me until I break, but I also don’t want him to stop touching me like I’m priceless.
After a few more strokes the heat starts to overwhelm me.
Then it’s more pressure than heat.
More friction than pressure.
Then, fuck me dead, I’m in heaven.
I dig my heels into his back, pulling him closer, making him go deeper.
“Are you gonna fuck me or wrap me in cotton wool?”
“You’re perfect,” he growls in my ear.
He’s so fucking hard I swear I can feel each of those sexy veins grinding along my insides.
I’ve never wanted anyone to ever see me like this; opened up, spread wide, being fucked until I lose my damn mind, and loving it.
“Are you good to move?”
I nod, and Tek loops an arm beneath me and starts to kneel. I wrap my arms back around his neck and let him lift me.
In his lap again, I sink all the way onto him, my mouth lolling open at how good it feels.
We’re so close we share the same breath.
My head jars when he hits harder.
My starving cock bounces between our bodies.
There’s a lust and intensity dripping from Tek’s eyes.
My arms slip until my hands are flat against his pecs.
A hand supports the back of my head, guiding me forward so our foreheads touch.
“You feel so fucking good, Carey.”
“You too, Oppa.” Tek drives into me extra hard at my use of the word, and I moan; “Oppa… Oppa… Oppa,” again and again just to have him fuck up into me with more force and precision.
“Such a brat.”
“I’m your brat.”
He pushes my head more firmly against his. “You mean it?”
