Page 76 of Beds and Blades

The orgasm arrived the way the best ones do: as the fulfillment of something that had been building steadily. It was a slow gathering that I felt first as a warmth low in my abdomen, then as a tightening that had nowhere to go. I was entirely unable to do anything except let it happen.

It was a warm unraveling of everything I had been holding.

I could feel his satisfaction.

I lay there afterward, boneless from the thorough resolution of tension.

When the last of it eased, he pressed one soft, deliberate kiss to the place he had just dismantled and looked up at me.

“Fuck me,” I gasped.

He rose over me—broad shoulders, the full weight of him above me.

Finally.

The head of his cock nudged my entrance, and I felt his restraint.

Then he began.

I made the sound again. The sound I had previously only made alone. As it exited my lips, I felt a surge of possessive satisfaction from him.

“You feel enormous inside me,” I said.

I could feel his pride. Justifiable.

“I want every inch of you.”

He paused when the bond carried the intensity of the pressure to him.

“Keep going,” I told him. “The sensations change. I know what comes next.”

He did. Slowly. Letting me adjust. The bond transmitted everything in both directions simultaneously—my body acclimating, his restraint costing him something real.

The bond lit up between us. I felt it like crossing a threshold I had already chosen. Nothing in me felt trapped; every part of me recognized the conclusion.

The connection was gathering itself around us. His eyes were on mine. I felt everything in that moment. Fierce love, intense pleasure, relief pouring through him.

I felt it in my bones. In the part that had always known.

He started moving. Long, slow, powerful strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside me. The wet sound of his thick cock sliding in and out of my soaked pussy filled the room. He gradually increased the pace, fucking me harder, deeper, hips snapping forward until the bed creaked.

I could feel what he felt.

He could feel what I felt.

“Fuck me harder,” I begged.

The request came out with less composure than I would typically bring to a direct request.

He felt the need beneath the words—and responded accordingly.

He gave it to me. Hard, relentless strokes. Skin slapped loudly against skin. The bond turned it into pure fire—his pleasure flooding me, mine flooding him, spiraling higher and hotter.

I stopped trying to think. I held on.

He slowed.

The fierce rhythm eased into something else entirely. Long, deliberate strokes that were not building toward anything, but were present.