Chapter 21 LILY
LILY
I'm still shaking from the orgasm, my whole body trembling with aftershocks I can't control, pleasure still rippling through me in waves that won't stop even though Luan's mouth has left me, even though I'm trying to catch my breath and failing.
No one has ever made me feel like this. Ever. Not even close.
Nothing in my limited experience prepared me for this, for the way Luan dismantled me with his mouth, for the intensity of sensation that left me completely undone.
And now he's asking me to put a condom on him and my hands won't stop shaking.
The request registers through the haze of pleasure still clouding my thoughts. I fumble with the nightstand drawer, my coordination shot, fingers clumsy as I pull it open. Find the box inside. Extract a foil packet that feels impossibly small in my trembling hands.
My fingers are uncoordinated, useless, the fine motor control destroyed by what just happened, by what's still happening inside my body as it tries to process sensations it's never experienced before.
Luan's hands cover mine, large and warm and infinitely steadier than my own. He presses his forehead against mine, the contact grounding, anchoring me back to reality when I feel like I might float away entirely.
"Breathe," he says quietly. An invitation. "Just breathe with me."
I draw a deep breath, feeling my lungs expand, feeling the oxygen flow through my system. Then another. And another. The shaking gradually eases, not disappearing entirely but becoming manageable instead of overwhelming.
We're both kneeling on the bed now, facing each other in the gray morning light filtering through the curtains. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen.
He's beautiful. Devastatingly so. All hard lines and controlled strength, the kind of masculine beauty that makes my mouth go dry and my thoughts scatter.
I reach for him, my hand wrapping around his cock with more confidence than I actually feel.
He's smooth, the skin impossibly soft over the hardness beneath. Rock hard. Hot under my palm like touching fever. Thick enough that my fingers don't quite meet around his girth.
I stroke once, experimentally, learning the weight and feel of him.
"Lily." My name comes out strangled, his voice strained to breaking. "I would love nothing more than to have your hand on me. But if you keep going, I'm going to come right now. And I want to do that inside you."
The words send heat straight through me, reigniting desire I thought was temporarily sated.
I tear open the foil packet with hands that are steadier now, driven by purpose. Take out the condom. Position it at the head of his cock.
Roll it down his length carefully, learning him through touch, mapping every inch as the latex slides into place.
He groans, deep and rough and entirely uncontrolled. The sound vibrates through me, settles low in my belly where want is already building again despite the orgasm I've already had.
I can't believe I'm doing this. Can't believe I'm here in Luan Krasniqi's bed, touching him like this, bringing him pleasure that's evident in every tense line of his body.
Can't believe someone who looks like him, all hard muscle and sharp angles and controlled power barely leashed, wants me enough to be shaking with the effort of holding back.
When the condom is fully on, he kisses me. Deep and claiming. His hands on my shoulders walking me backward on my knees until I'm lying down again, the mattress soft beneath my back, his body covering mine.
He positions himself between my legs, spreading them wider with his knees, making space for his hips. Guides himself to my entrance with one hand while the other braces beside my head.
"You're perfect," he says against my mouth, breath warm and unsteady. "So fucking perfect."
He pushes inside. Slow. Inch by careful inch. Giving me time to adjust to the stretch, to the fullness, to the sensation of being opened and filled in a way I've never experienced.
It's too much. Not enough. Everything.
"That's it," he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. "Take me. All of me. Vajze e mire. Good girl."
The praise goes straight through me, makes me clench around him involuntarily.
He groans again, the sound pulled from somewhere deep. Bottoms out inside me. Stays still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first. Rolling his hips in a rhythm that's more grinding than thrusting, hitting places inside me I didn't know existed. His mouth moves to my breasts, tongue circling one nipple before his teeth close around it, the bite of pain mixing with pleasure in ways that make me gasp.
My hands find his back, nails digging into muscle as he works me higher. His skin is hot under my palms, slightly damp with exertion, every movement of his body against mine creating friction that builds and builds.
Then faster. Harder. The bed moving with each thrust now, headboard bumping softly against the wall, the sound mixing with our breathing and the small sounds I can't hold back.
I'm close again. Already. My body responding to him in ways that should be impossible this soon after the last orgasm, but the pleasure is coiling tight in my belly anyway, demanding release.
His hand moves between us, finds my oversensitive clit with unerring accuracy.
Pinches.
I come hard, the orgasm crashing through me with enough force to steal my voice, my vision whiting out completely for several seconds. My whole body clenching around him, pulling him deeper, trying to keep him exactly where he is.
I hear him curse in Albanian, something that sounds like praise and possession mixed together.
I'm still shaking, still riding the aftershocks, when he pulls out.
The loss makes me whimper, makes me reach for him without thinking.
He catches my thighs. Turns me over onto my stomach with a strength that should probably alarm me but instead sends another wave of heat through my already oversensitized system.
I'm amazed at how easily he moves me, how effortlessly he positions my body exactly how he wants it. Like I weigh nothing. Like my body is his to command and arrange. Like I'm something precious but also entirely his to do with as he pleases.
The thought should bother me. Should trigger some kind of resistance.
It doesn't.
He enters me from behind in one hard thrust that punches the air from my lungs, the angle completely different, somehow deeper, hitting places that make stars explode behind my closed eyes.
His hands find mine, threading our fingers together before pinning them to the bed on either side of my head. Holding me in place. Keeping me exactly where he wants me while he sets a pace that's vigorous, relentless, designed to drive us both toward something explosive.
The position leaves me helpless. Unable to move. Unable to do anything except take what he's giving me and try to remember how to breathe.
My face is pressed into the pillow, his weight partially on me but not crushing, just present enough to remind me exactly who's in control right now.
The scent of him surrounds me, cedar and smoke and something uniquely Luan, mixing with the smell of sex and sweat and the faint vanilla of my own skin.
After what feels like forever and no time at all, he shifts. Gets on his knees, still buried inside me, the movement changing the angle again.
Pulls me up with him, strong hands gripping my hips and lifting until I'm on my knees too, back pressed against his chest, completely impaled on him from behind.
One hand slides up my body, wraps around my throat. Not squeezing. Not restricting air. Just holding. Claiming. Making it absolutely clear who I belong to in this moment.
The other hand finds my clit, fingers working with practiced precision.
"Come for me again," he commands against my ear, voice rough and absolute. "One more time, Lily."
I whimper, the sound pitiful and desperate. "I can't. Luan, I can't. It's too much."
"You can." His fingers work faster, the pressure perfect, overwhelming. "You will. Now."
And because my body apparently belongs to him more than it belongs to me, because the command in his voice triggers something primal and beyond my control, I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me, bigger than the others, longer, more devastating. I'm not sure where it ends and I begin, not sure if I'm screaming or silent, not sure of anything except the pleasure tearing me apart and remaking me into something new.
I feel him follow seconds later, his groan of release vibrating through his chest into my back, his arms tightening around me as he buries himself as deep as possible and comes hard enough that I feel it even through the condom.
We collapse together, bodies tangled, both of us breathing like we've run miles. His weight partially on me, his face buried in my neck, one hand still splayed possessively across my stomach.
And somewhere in the middle of the aftershocks still rippling through me, in the space between heartbeats, I understand with crystalline clarity what just happened.
This wasn't fake. Wasn't performance. Wasn't part of the arrangement we made, the professional boundaries I tried to maintain, the distance I attempted to create just yesterday.
This was real.