Chapter 9 Você Sente… #3
When I wake again, gray pre-dawn light bathes the room.
I'm spooning Lorenzo, his big, broad back curved against my belly and breasts, my knees tucked against his.
I drowse like that for a while, basking in the feeling of happiness.
Eventually my bladder drives me out of bed, but I hurry back as quickly as possible, resuming my position behind him.
I curl my arm over his waist, under the heavy weight of his arm.
Unable to fall back asleep but unwilling to leave the bed and the warmth of Ren's body and the soul-filling contentment of simply holding him, I find my mind wandering back to yesterday.
Specifically, to when he made me come with his mouth. God, that was good. Bizarre at first, but incredible. I feel my sex grow hot and damp at the visceral memory, and I squirm behind him as arousal builds low in my core.
I can't believe that was me last night, that I let—that I begged—Ren to come on my breasts.
While I didn't derive any physical, sexual pleasure from it myself, the intensity of the situation was its own reward.
But more so, Ren's pleasure was my reward.
My freedom in being able to do such things with the man I love is its own reward.
I had him above me, and I didn't panic.
I enjoyed it.
I liked his weight over me, his presence surrounding me. Rather than oppressive and triggering, it was comforting and safe and…arousing. He makes me feel small and delicate and beautiful. I can show him what I have long thought of as weakness, and I can trust him with it. With all of me.
My hand rests on his belly, low, below his navel.
Arousal burns in my veins, creates a pressure inside me—not a need for release, but a desire for him.
I crave him. I crave his body. His heat, his weight, his power, his aggression, his need.
I crave his touch. I crave his body—I need to feel his hardness in my hands.
I imagine Ren above me, his dark eyes piercing mine. I picture his mouth on my breasts, his hand between my legs. His cock in my hands. His hips between my thighs. His erection at my entrance. Filling me. Entering me.
Instead of terror and panic at the image, I feel…arousal, a hot pulsing pressure swelling inside me. Need for Ren.
Ren stirs, grumbles sleepy, wordless noises.
His hips shift, tilt. I let my hand drift lower, and I encounter him waiting for me, a curled comma of manhood drooping against his thigh.
I cup him, wondering at the strangeness of the fact that, like this, I can fit all of him in my cupped hand, yet when he grows to full erection, I need both hands to grip his entire shaft.
He exhales heavily, groaning quietly, and his hips tilt again; I feel his cock stir under my hand, thickening, hardening, growing. I palm his heavy soft warm balls, enjoying the feel of him, letting myself feel possessive of him.
He is mine. His body is mine. Just I am his, my body is his.
Slowly, his cock unfurls in my hand, becoming a hot, silky, rigid shaft in my fist. I stroke him, resting my cheek on his back, smiling to myself at the joy I feel in simply being able to do this. To touch him without fear, to enjoy his body without flashbacks or triggers.
"Soph?" Comes his low, rough, sleepy rumble. "Feels good."
He rolls to his back and I drape myself half on him, nuzzle his cheek and caress his big, beautiful cock.
"Good morning, my handsome lover,” I whisper. "I woke up wanting you."
He turns his face to mine but doesn't kiss me. "I woke up with your hand on my cock. Can't get any better than that."
I grin against his jaw. "Hmmm. Maybe if you woke up in my mouth?"
"That would be pretty amazing," he agrees.
For another few moments, he simply lays on his back, eyes closed, a smile on his face, letting me caress him.
And then he rolls into me, forehead to forehead, his fingers diving between us to my clit. I let my hand drift down his length, not trying to make him come, just touching him for the pure joy of it—he, however, is trying to make me come.
And he succeeds, quickly.
A few circles of his fingers over my clit, and I'm a gasping, writhing mess, needing more. "Ren," I whisper. "I need you."
His answer is to roll to his back, taking me with him. His hands grip my hips as I straddle him, sitting on my shins with my body pressed against his, my hands burying in his hair. He palms my ass, growling a sound of pure male appreciation.
"Fuck, you’ve got a great ass," he murmurs. “You know that?"
"I do now," I whisper.
He starts to lift me up his body. "C'mere. You need to come for me."
I resist his pull, sitting down on his belly. My heart hammers in my chest as I let my true need grow into a rolling boil within me. "I don't want that right now, my love," I breathe, lips brushing his ear.
He squeezes my ass. "No? What do you want, then?"
Swallowing hard, nerves jangling in every cell—but just nerves, not fear—I reach between us, grasp his erection. Notch the broad plump tip against the seam of my pussy. "This," I whisper.
"Sophia, are you sure?" He cups my cheek, gazing into my eyes, searching me.
I stroke his length, keeping him pressed against my seam. "Yes," I whisper. "I'm sure. I want you. I woke up wanting you. Needing you. Needing this."
“Then show me," he growls.
I capture his mouth, grip him, panting into his mouth as I press his tip against my clit, eliciting a sharp gasp. His fingers claw into my ass, and I feel his muscles tense beneath me. Anticipating. Craving.
Abruptly, Lorenzo stills, grabs my wrist. "I'm not wearing—"
I kiss him quiet. "Unnecessary. All I’ll say right now is that the birth caused what's called secondary infertility. I can't conceive again. And obviously, considering our respective situations, we are both free of any possible STDs."
“If you're sure," he says. "I won't put you at any kind of risk."
"I've had three different ob-gyns confirm my infertility. We're safe." I rest my cheek against his. "And I don't want anything between us. I want to feel all of you."
He guides my face away so he can search me. "You aren't afraid? No panic?"
I smile at him, my heart melting all over again at his concern for nothing but me. "I'm not afraid. I just want you. I want to be one with you."
He releases my wrist and brushes the wild, inky cloud of my hair away from my face, and then roams his hands down my back to take hold of my ass once more. "I am yours, my love. Do with me what you will."
In my time, he means. He won't move until I tell him he can.
I’m in control.
I caress his length again, once, twice, and I feel him respond, hips tipping to push his cock into my touch.
I rest my forehead on his and lower my hips—just a touch.
Press him against my opening until the fat, thick head of his cock splits my lips apart.
My heart, despite my claims of a lack of fear, starts to hammer madly, and my breath comes in shaky, gasping pants.
"Soph?” he whispers, concerned.
I cover his mouth with one hand for a moment. "I'm good. I'm okay. Just…try not to move. Please."
He runs his hands up my back, soothing over my shoulders and down my spine to my ass, repeating that circuit in comforting circles. "I won't. Not until you say so." His voice is tight, however, and I know it's costing him to hold still when I imagine all he wants is to bury himself inside me.
I keep hold of his cock at the root, eyes closed tight as I feel him splitting me open.
I whimper as I lower my hips another inch, taking more of him; he's inside me up to his glans—I stroke his length until I meet my own flesh, and I feel him pulsing in my hands.
I already feel so full, stretched open and aching with him, and he's barely inside me.
I let go of him, rest my arms on his chest and grip his shoulders, head ducked, panting and whimpering—nervous, scared now, yes, but also aching with need for him, ready to take all of him, to be full of him, to be one with him, heart, mind, soul, and body.
I feel him shaking with the strain of holding so absolutely still when I know every fiber of his being must be screaming at him to move, to take me, to drive the rest of the way in.
I sink lower, take more of him—my mouth drops open and a shrill gasp escapes my throat as he fills me with another inch of his immense, hot cock.
I hold still, letting my body grow used to him, letting my sex stretch around him. I feel every last centimeter of him inside me, and I want more. I want all of him.
I pant breathlessly, mouth hanging open and shuddering against his throat. "Ren, you feel—oh god. Oh god, Ren."
His grip on my ass tightens to the very edge of painful, and his answering growl is rough and ragged and raw. "Sophia, my sweet Sophia."
"Sweet?" I echo, huffing a laugh—the laugh makes me squeeze around him, and he jerks in response. "I'm anything but sweet."
He tilts my face up to his. “Kiss me."
"I have morning breath."
"I don't care. Kiss me."
I slide my lips against his and part my mouth for his tongue and kiss him, letting my love and need and desire and affection and passion and desperation bleed into the kiss, infuse it with wild hunger.
He pulls away after a moment, just enough to whisper. "See? Sweet."
"Only for you." I brush my mouth against his ear. "I'm ready for all of you, my love."
"Soph—" he starts.
I drive my hips slowly down toward his, and I let out a shrill, breathless cry as his huge, hard cock sinks into me, inch after inch of thick, hot manhood splitting me, stretching me, filling me to glutted, aching fullness.
He's so big and it's been so long that it truly hurts at first, and I have to go still, trembling above him, whimpering as my pussy stretches to accommodate him.
"Oh god, Ren," I gasp. "You're—god, you're so much bigger than I remember."
"I'm not…" he trails off, groaning and trembling, and starts over. "I'm not hurting you?"