9. Rakk #3
She melts against me, hands sliding over my shoulders and back, exploring muscle and skin with increasing confidence.
I lower her back to the warm stone floor, settling between her spread thighs. She tenses slightly, old instinct, but I kiss down her neck and chest, taking my time. Worshiping every inch of skin I can reach, learning the taste of her, the sounds she makes when I find sensitive spots.
I circle one nipple with my tongue and she arches up with a gasp.
I take it into my mouth, sucking gently, and her hands fly to my hair.
Through the connection, I feel her surprise at the pleasure—like she never knew it could feel like this, that her body could respond with such intensity to gentle attention.
I lavish the same care on her other breast, taking my time, refusing to rush. Her hips are rolling restlessly beneath me, seeking friction she's not quite aware of needing yet.
I kiss down her stomach, over each scar with reverent attention. Showing her without words that every mark makes her more beautiful to me, not less. Her breathing is ragged, her hands tangling and releasing in my hair.
When I settle between her thighs fully, pressing them wider, she tenses. Old fear spikes through the connection.
"Rakk, what—"
"Just pleasure," I murmur against her inner thigh. "Nothing else. I promise. Trust me?"
A pause. Then: "Yes."
I kiss up her thigh slowly, letting her adjust to the sensation, to the vulnerability of this position. When I finally reach her center, I can smell her arousal—sweet and intoxicating. I press a kiss to her folds and she jerks.
"Oh gods—"
I lick up her slit slowly, tasting her properly, and nearly lose my mind. She's perfect—wet and responsive and mine. I circle her clit with my tongue, gentle and exploratory, learning what makes her gasp and writhe.
Through the connection, I feel her shock. She's never experienced this before—never had someone focus entirely on her pleasure. Never had someone worship her like this, treating her body as something precious rather than a tool for their own satisfaction.
I'm going to ruin her for anyone else.
The thought is possessive and primitive and absolutely true. No one else will ever touch her like this, taste her like this, know her body the way I'm learning it right now.
I work her slowly, thoroughly, alternating between broad licks and focused attention on her clit. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head. Her hips start moving in rhythm with my tongue, chasing pleasure she's discovering for the first time.
"Rakk—I don't—it's—"
"Let go," I murmur against her. "Just feel it."
I slide one finger into her carefully, feeling how tight she is, how her body clenches around the intrusion. I curl it, searching, and when I find the spot that makes her cry out I focus there relentlessly.
Her pleasure builds through our connection, spiraling higher and tighter. I can feel it approaching, feel her body tensing toward something she doesn't quite understand yet.
"That's it," I encourage. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
I suck her clit into my mouth at the same moment I press against that internal spot and she breaks. Her body bows off the floor, her hands fisting in my hair hard enough to hurt. She cries out—my name, I think, though it's barely coherent—and her pussy clenches rhythmically around my finger.
Through the connection, I feel her orgasm like it's my own. The pleasure crashes over me, through me, stealing my breath with its intensity. Pure and overwhelming and absolutely perfect.
I work her through it gently, drawing out every aftershock until she's trembling and oversensitive. When she finally relaxes, boneless and panting, I press a final kiss to her inner thigh and sit back.
She's gorgeous like this—flushed and sated, hair spread around her head like a dark halo. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nipples still hard, body loose with satisfaction.
I did that. Made her feel that. Gave her the first orgasm anyone's ever given her without taking anything in return.
The knowledge sits warm and proud in my chest.
She opens her eyes slowly, meeting my gaze. Wonder bleeds through the connection—disbelief that pleasure could feel like that, that someone would give it so freely.
"That was—" She can't seem to finish the sentence.
"Good?" I grin, deliberately cocky.
"More." The word comes out breathless but certain. "I want more."
My cock throbs painfully. "Serah—"
"Please." She sits up, eyes traveling down my body to where my erection strains against my leathers. "I want to know what it's like to choose. To have you. All of you."
Every argument I should make dies in my throat. She wants this. Wants me. I can feel it through our connection—genuine desire mixing with curiosity and trust.
I stand, unlacing my leathers with hands that tremble slightly. I push them down along with my smallclothes, freeing my cock. It springs free, hard and flushed and aching.
Her eyes go wide. Through the connection, I feel her reaction—awe at the size, brief uncertainty if it'll fit, but underneath it all: want. She wants me inside her.
I move back to her but instead of covering her body with mine, I roll to my back on the warm stone. She blinks, confused.
"I don't want to be in control," I tell her. "This needs to be your choice. Your pace. Take what you want from me."
Understanding dawns in her expression. Then heat. She moves over me on trembling limbs, straddling my hips. My cock rests against her stomach, massive and intimidating, but she doesn't pull away.
Her hands brace on my chest. She lifts her hips, positioning herself. The head of my cock presses against her entrance.
We both groan.
She sinks down slowly—so fucking slowly—and I feel every inch of her tight heat enveloping me.
She's so small, so impossibly tight, and my cock stretches her wider than she's ever been stretched.
Through the connection, I feel the burn, the pressure, the edge of discomfort as her body struggles to accommodate me.
"Easy," I grit out. "Take your time."
She lowers another inch. Then another. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. Her nipples are hard peaks, her body trembling with effort and sensation.
Gods, she's perfect like this. Absolutely perfect.
She keeps sinking until I'm buried completely inside her, and we both stop breathing. The feeling is indescribable—tight and hot and right in ways I didn't know were possible. Through the connection, I feel her fullness, the overwhelming stretch, the pleasure-pain of being so completely taken.
"Fuck," I groan. "Serah—"
She starts to move. Lifting up slowly then sinking back down, finding a rhythm. Her expression is one of intense concentration mixed with building pleasure. Every movement is deliberate, controlled. She's taking what she wants, learning her own body's responses.
I grip her hips, guiding but not controlling. Helping her find the angle that makes her gasp, that sends pleasure spiking through our connection bright and sharp.
She rides me harder, more confidently. Her head is thrown back, breasts bouncing with each movement. The sight is so erotic I nearly come right there.
"That's it," I encourage. "Take it. Take everything."
She does. She rides me like she's claiming me, like she's proving to herself that she can have this, can want this, can feel pleasure without fear. The psychological component of that bleeds through our connection, mixing with physical sensation until I can't separate them.
She's close. I can feel her orgasm building through the bond, feel her body tensing toward release. I thrust up to meet her movements, driving deeper, and she cries out.
"Rakk—I'm—"
"Come," I command. "Let me feel you come on my cock."
She does. Her pussy clamps down on me like a vise, rhythmic pulses that milk my shaft. Through the connection, her pleasure crashes into mine and I'm lost. My orgasm hits like a physical blow, stealing thought and breath. I come inside her in hot pulses, filling her, marking her as mine.
We shatter together, pleasure feeding between us until I can't tell where I end and she begins.