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“You’re so tight. You’re going to break me when I’m inside of you.”
He curls the finger, and I slap my free hand over my mouth to stop the needy sound coming out.
He pulls it away. “No. I want to hear you.”
“You’re a pervert.”
“I can be anything you want me to be.” He adds a second, letting me feel every inch of the stretch.
“Don’t tell me how to—”
He scissors them, and my back arches off the bed. A moan rips out of me, legs falling wider because my body’s already chosen it wants him. Fuck, I want him.
“Good boy.”
“Shut—nnh—up.”
He laughs against my mouth, and then there are three fingers now, deep, dragging over that spot that makes my cock jump untouched against my stomach.
“Look at you,” he whispers, even though he can’t. “All that fight, and you’re opening up for me so easily.”
He fucks me on his fingers, kissing the corner of my eyes. I’m making sounds I’ll want dead in the morning. And still I hook a leg around his hip and push down onto his hand, because the vulnerability has nowhere to go except through him.
He curls his fingers again, and my whole body tries to finish on it.
“Don’t.” His voice drops, rough. “Don’t come yet.”
“Then stop—ah—doing that.”
He kisses the protest off my mouth and stills his hand deep inside me. “I want you to do it with my cock in you.”
He pulls his fingers out, and I whimper at the empty drag.
I hear a cap. I think it’s lube. He’s gone from my body for two seconds, and I hate those two seconds more than I hate him. Then he’s back between my thighs, hotter, thicker, slicked, the blunt head of him pressing where his fingers just were.
My hands find his shoulders.
“Breathe for me, baby.”
“I’m not a—”
He pushes in.
The first inch steals whatever insult I had. I wince as the stretch turns real. He freezes, shaking with it, mouth at my cheek.
“It—nnh—it’s a lot.” It is. I’m not exactly lacking in that department myself, but this bastard is so ridiculously big.
“I know.” He kisses the wince like he can take it off my face. “But you can take it.”
I nod against him, and he eases forward another inch. I hiss through my teeth and clutch at him, legs coming up around his hips.
“Kento—”
“I’m here.” He sinks deeper, filling me by degrees while I whimper and hold onto him in the dark.
I feel it in him.
He’s trying to go slow, and it’s costing him. His arms are braced on either side of my head, his breath coming out of him in uneven pulls like he’s holding a knife by the blade. Every time I clench, he makes a sound against my mouth and has to stop.
