Chapter 12 Iris #2
Desperation.
I shift, hips tilting upward instinctively, and when he presses deeper, something inside me clenches tight.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “I can feel—Garrik, I can feel you so deep—”
He stills, his voice low and broken. “Look.”
I blink, disoriented, and follow the path of his hand as he brushes his palm gently down my stomach. My eyes widen when I see what he sees: a slight bulge just below my navel, the barest suggestion of where his cock is filling me, stretching me from the inside out.
“Oh,” I whisper. “Oh fuck.”
“Too much?” he asks, but his voice is shaking. “We can stop—”
“No,” I breathe. “Don’t stop. I want it. I want all of you.”
He kisses me then—devouring, reverent—and starts to move again.
Not thrusting, not yet. Just sliding deeper, inch by slow inch, until I feel completely full.
My whole body is trembling, my thighs wrapped tight around his hips, and I can’t stop the low, helpless sounds that keep slipping from my mouth.
“Fuck,” Garrik groans. “You’re taking me so well. You’re perfect, Iris…gods, you feel so good.”
He bottoms out with a slow, final press, and we both shudder—panting, clinging to each other, overwhelmed. I chance one more look down and I can see him inside me, and it almost starts to hurt just at the sheer size…but then his hasp vibrates against my clit, brushes, sucks.
And then—then he starts to move.
It’s just a little—just a slow roll of his hips, testing the give of me, making sure I can take him without pain.
But even that…even that makes my whole body jolt.
I feel everything. Every inch of him, every slick, thick ridge dragging against me.
I gasp, gripping his shoulders as he rocks forward again, then back.
My breath punches out of me in a shaky exhale. “Garrik…”
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. His mouth brushes mine, the honey still warm on my lips. “You’re doing so good, honeybee.”
He’s right—I am doing good. I feel good.
The honey is still working its magic—making my skin feel like it’s glowing, making every nerve hum.
I can feel it on my clit, slick and pulsing where it rubbeed off of his hasp.
And I can feel it now…inside me, where I’m stretched impossibly full and still somehow wanting more.
He moves again—deeper this time—and I feel the slow, deliberate drag of his cock pushing against that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.
“Garrik,” I breathe, head falling back. “You feel…”
“I know,” he groans. “You’re so tight around me. So soft. So perfect.”
He slides one hand to my hip, the other cradling my back, and he begins to rock into me with steady, careful rhythm.
My body clings to him with every thrust, desperate and aching and full.
My muscles stretch to accommodate the sheer size of him, the fullness that steals my breath, the friction that makes my thighs tremble.
He presses a hand gently against my lower stomach—right over that spot—and I feel his cock twitch inside me at the sight, the proof of how deeply we’re joined.
“Gonna make you feel so good,” he whispers, dragging his thumb just below my navel. “Gonna love you like this until you can’t speak.”
And gods help me, I believe him.
He kisses my neck—soft, reverent—then lifts his head to look down at me. His eyes are blown wide, gold nearly swallowed up by black, and his antennae are curled forward, trembling slightly.
“Still okay?” he murmurs, slowing for just a beat.
I nod frantically, legs tightening around his waist. “More than okay. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
A soft, desperate noise escapes him, and he pulls almost all the way out—then sinks back in, slow and deep and devastating.
I whimper, nails digging into his back, my whole body trembling with how good it feels.
The heat builds between us, a thick, syrupy ache gathering in my core as he moves, thrust after thrust, slow and steady and so deep.
“You’re so full,” he whispers. “So warm…gods, Iris—you’re mine.”
“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, I’m yours.”
And I mean it.
I’ve always been his.
His pace picks up, still careful, still reverent, but hungrier now. I can feel him losing control, feel the strain in his arms as he holds back from pounding into me the way I know he wants to. He’s trying to be gentle—for me. For us.
“I want—” I can barely speak. “I want you to feel it, Garrik. I want you to come inside me. Please…”
He growls—a low, broken sound—and then he starts to move faster.
Not rough. Not careless. Just more.
More of him—more friction, more heat. More of that deep, relentless thrust that hits something inside me that makes me shatter.
“Iris—”
“I’m there—I’m there—don’t stop—!”
And when I come, it’s like falling into honey. Sweet and golden and endless. My body clenches around him in rhythmic waves, milking him, coaxing him deeper, and I cry out—loud and breathless and wrecked.
Garrik thrusts once, twice—then groans my name like a prayer and follows me over the edge, hips snapping forward as he spills deep inside me.
And I feel it.
The heat of it. The stretch. The flood.
I feel everything.
Garrik stays buried deep, trembling above me, braced on his elbows like he’s afraid he might crush me if he loses control now.
His cock is still twitching inside me, still thick, still so much, and I swear I can feel him everywhere—pressing against my ribs, still nudging deeper every time I breathe.
And the heat—
The heat between my thighs is unreal.
I feel every pulse, every throb, every impossible rush of warmth as he empties himself inside me—and it doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming. Thick and slow and hot, flooding my already stretched walls and leaking out around the seal of him.
“Garrik,” I gasp. “How…you’re still coming…?”
He lets out a low, guttural sound, antennae trembling. “I know,” he growls, voice almost pained with how good it is. “More than…more than humans—”
His hips jerk once more, cock buried as deep as it can possibly go—and I swear I feel it everywhere. Pressure high in my stomach, warmth flooding me so thoroughly it almost aches.
There’s so much.
So much.
This part, I wasn’t expecting.
It drips from where we’re joined, slow and slick and obscene, but still—he hasn’t moved. He’s just there, fully seated inside me, panting into my neck, his body huge and flushed and shaking from the effort of holding back.
“You’re gonna break me,” I whisper, dazed and delighted. “I think I can feel you in my lungs.”
That gets a broken laugh out of him. “Don’t tempt me, honeybee.”
We stay like that for a long moment—connected, stuffed full, glowing in the warmth of it.
Then, carefully, he lifts his head.
“Ready?” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth.
I nod, even though I’m not sure what he’s asking if I’m ready for. But I figure it out quickly when Garrik pulls back, and I feel every single inch drag out of me, glistening and thick and still hard enough to make me whimper.
And when he finally slips free, there’s a wet, obscene sound…and then more of his cum spills out of me, sliding in slow, molten drips down my thighs.
“Oh my gods,” I breathe.
Garrik groans, clearly seeing the mess. “You took all of it,” he whispers, reverent. “All of me.”
And then his thumb drifts down to trace where I’m still leaking, and I moan, hips twitching from the overstimulation.
“I think I need to carry you to the bath,” he says, still breathless.
“I think you owe me a bath,” I mumble. “And breakfast. And maybe a warning next time.”
Garrik chuckles low, the sound curling through me like a second heartbeat. He bends to kiss my temple, then the bridge of my nose, then finally my lips—soft, lingering, and almost too sweet to be real after what we just did.
“I’ll run the water,” he murmurs. “Don’t move.”
“I can’t move,” I groan.
“Exactly,” he says with a smirk that is far too pleased with itself, then presses one last kiss to the corner of my mouth before rising.
I watch him cross the room, all long limbs and flushed skin, and I let myself fall back against the pillows with a sigh. My body is a mess—sticky, trembling, stretched—but I feel...glorious. Worshipped. Like someone cracked open the sky and poured light straight into my chest.
A few minutes later, Garrik returns with a towel in one hand and a twinkle in his eye. “I added some of the restorative salts,” he says, scooping me up like I weigh nothing. “You’re going to sleep so well after this.”
“You say that like you’re not going to start something again as soon as I stop limping.”
“I’m being gentle,” he says innocently.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You are not gentle.”
He carries me toward the bath anyway, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “I’m going to take care of you, honeybee. For as long as you’ll let me.”
And in that moment, I know—I’ll never want anything else.