Chapter 12 #2
For long, perfect moments he just stays there, deep inside me, neither of us moving. His forehead dropped against mine. Both of us breathing hard. Neither of us going anywhere.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps. “Every time I sink into you it feels like the universe is finally fucking quiet.”
God, I want to put my arms around him. I want to weave my fingers through his thick hair, trace the muscles of his back with my fingertips.
He rolls his hips, and my eyes fall closed, the sensation moving up and down my spine.
A hot breath leaves me when he palms my face with both hands, fingers raking into my hair, lips hovering so close to mine. “When I’m inside you, I forget who I am. What I’ve done.” Another roll of his hips. “I forget what they did to me. Inside you, I’m as whole as I’ll ever be.”
The last sentence breaks me open in a way nothing else could. Not the thick, stretching fullness of him inside me. Not the heat or the devastating possession. Not even the way he’s cradling my face like I’m something sacred.
It’s the words.
Spoken plainly, without armor, while he’s buried to the hilt inside me. Said in the soft morning light with the smell of apple and cinnamon curling around us, flour still on his knuckles, and the muffins warm in the oven.
He has carried the worst of his life in absolute silence for years.
And in this quiet, unremarkable moment, he simply laid it down.
He let me see the weight of it. He let me be the place where he finally said it out loud.
And I understand, with bone-deep clarity, that this is the most intimate thing he has ever given me.
I kiss him, deeply, lovingly, then inch back. “I’m yours to take whenever…however you choose.”
“You’re gonna regret saying that.”
This time I circle my hips, letting him move inside me, and his eyes roll closed, a deep groan echoing from his throat.
“Let me be your peace, Nazareth.”
Our breaths explode as he takes my mouth, sweeps his tongue deep to every corner, then holds it as he starts to fuck me with that singular focus he brings to everything.
Abruptly, he grips the hair at the back of my neck with one hand, the other on my ass, holding me in place so I don’t slide back.
His pace speeds up, hips snapping forward hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the kitchen.
He fucks me like it’s a sacrament, every thrust equal parts devotion and ruin.
I cry out, clinging to the counter. Every nerve from my toes to my fingers is alive, every part of me reduced to sensation.
The counter digs bruises into my ass, each impact sharp, grounding, but even pain is sweet with him, because it comes with the way he tangles his fingers in my hair and angles my head back to watch my face as he fucks me.
“This pussy’s been mine since the night you gave me that fucking lollipop.”
It hits me like a breaking wave, my pussy clenching violently around his cock, spasming and fluttering with white-hot pleasure.
Every muscle in my body trembles and seizes.
My thighs shake uncontrollably around his hips.
Heat floods through my veins, burning behind my eyes, and exploding between my legs until I’m gushing around him.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but feel—the devastating stretch of him, the way my walls keep pulsing and squeezing, the electric pleasure that keeps crashing through me in endless aftershocks.
A broken sob escapes my throat as another powerful wave rolls through me, so intense it almost hurts.
“God, you’re beautiful when you come.” Then he follows, burying himself to the hilt, and I feel him jerk and throb inside me, flooding me with thick, hot pulses. He keeps grinding deep through both our orgasms, pushing every drop as far inside me as it will go.
We’re breathless when he finally pulls out, a thick rivulet of his cum immediately leaking out of me.
He takes a single step back, eyes locked between my legs. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
I gasp as he jerks my thighs wider, almost impossibly so. “Keep your legs spread exactly like this.”
“Well, I can.” I smirk. “But the question is why?”
Reth tucks his spent cock back into his pants with lazy, unhurried movements, never taking his eyes off the mess he’s made between my legs. He looks almost mesmerized by it.
“I still need to finish the muffins. And while I do… you’re going to sit there exactly like that—thighs wide open, so I can see my cum between your legs.”
Oh. Well, that just ignited a whole new flame right where he wants a front row seat to.
“So, my job right now is to be your messy little cumslut on display?”
“Sweet Jesus,” he groans, biting his bottom lip. “When you say it like that.”
I smile, victorious, straightening my posture as I shift closer to the edge so I can spread my legs for him even more.
For a long moment, he just stands there, drinking in the sight of me—flushed, marked, dripping with him. Then he turns back to the oven like he has all the time in the world.
He opens it, checks the muffins, rotates the tray with careful precision, then closes the door again. The warm, sweet scent of apple and cinnamon fills the kitchen even thicker now.
His gaze drifts back to me, to my pussy. And it does wicked things to me. Wicked, filthy, delicious things.
I feel it then—a slow, warm trickle. A thick drop of his cum slips from my still-fluttering entrance and begins to slide down my folds. It’s obscene, intimate, and so fucking dirty that my thighs tense on instinct. I don’t close them. I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that.
Reth notices immediately.
His eyes narrow, darkening with that possessive hunger that makes my stomach flip. He sets the oven mitt down with deliberate calm, like he’s not in any rush, and stalks back over to me.
Without a word, he reaches between my spread thighs. Two thick fingers glide through my slick folds, catching the warm drop of his cum just before it can escape further. He scoops it up slowly, deliberately, coating his fingers in the evidence of what he just pumped into me.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Trying to waste what I gave you.”
He pushes those two fingers back inside me—deep, slow, and possessive—fucking his cum back into my cunt with lazy, sensual strokes. The wet, filthy sound of it makes my cheeks burn.
I whimper, oversensitive and still pulsing around the intrusion.
He curls his fingers, pressing them against that spot that makes my toes curl, and leans in until his lips brush my ear.
“Every drop belongs inside this greedy little pussy,” he whispers, voice dark velvet.
“I’m going to keep filling you until you’re so full of me you can’t even sit without feeling me leak.
And if anything tries to escape…” He twists his fingers deeper, pushing the cum even further inside, “I’ll just push it right back in where it fucking belongs.
Again and again. Until your body understands it’s mine. ”
He kisses the side of my throat, almost tenderly, while his fingers continue their slow, claiming strokes.
“Be a good girl and keep that cum warm for me, Sophia. I’m not done with you yet.”