Chapter 17 #3
His fingers explored with exquisite care, learning every sensitive place, discovering what made me gasp, what made me arch against his hand, what drew those desperate sounds from my throat.
He curled them inside me, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids, while his thumb worked my clit in maddening circles.
He was patient, attentive, his eyes never leaving my face as he watched my every reaction, watched me come undone on his hand.
When I was trembling and aching, when I thought I might die from wanting him, when I was right on the edge of climax, he withdrew his fingers.
I whimpered at the loss, but then he settled himself between my thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against my entrance.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he said, his gaze intense and searching. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Don't stop," I whispered, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please don't stop. I need you inside me. I need to feel you."
He entered me slowly, reverently, giving me time to adjust to his considerable size.
The stretch was intense—a delicious fullness that made me feel complete in a way I'd never imagined possible.
He was so thick, so hard, splitting me open inch by exquisite inch.
A soft gasp escaped my lips as he filled me, my pussy clenching around him, trying to draw him deeper, and his answering groan vibrated through both our bodies.
When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt inside me, he stilled, his entire body trembling with the effort of control, his breath coming in harsh pants against my neck.
"Okay?" he managed, his voice tight with restraint, every muscle in his body taut as he waited for my answer, as if my comfort mattered more than his own desperate need. I could feel him throbbing inside me, could feel every ridge and vein of his cock.
"More than okay." I wrapped my legs around his hips, urging him deeper, reveling in the way his breath hitched, in the way he groaned when I clenched around him. "Move. Please. Fuck me."
He did, setting a careful rhythm that had me seeing stars.
Every thrust was deliberate, controlled, his eyes never leaving my face as he watched for any sign of discomfort.
But there was none—only pleasure building inside me like a storm gathering strength, each movement stoking the fire higher.
The slide of his cock in and out of me created a friction that was almost unbearably perfect, a sweet torture that had me clinging to him like he was my only anchor in a spinning world.
I could hear the wet sounds of our bodies joining, could feel my arousal coating his shaft with every stroke.
"You feel..." He groaned, his control beginning to slip, his movements becoming slightly less measured, more urgent. His hips snapped forward harder, driving deeper. "Perfect. You feel perfect. So tight. So wet. Like you were made for my cock."
I couldn't form words anymore. I could only hold onto him as pleasure built inside me like a rising tide, threatening to sweep me away completely. His hand slipped between us, finding my clit with unerring precision, and I shattered.
I screamed his name, not caring who might hear, not caring about anything beyond this moment, beyond him.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, my pussy clenching and spasming around his cock as I was swept away by the most intense sensation I'd ever experienced.
My orgasm seemed to go on forever, pleasure radiating out from my core to every nerve ending in my body.
He followed me over the edge moments later, his rhythm faltering as his own release shuddered through him.
I felt him pulse inside me, felt the hot rush of his cum filling me as he buried his face in my neck, my name a prayer, a benediction, a promise on his lips.
For a long moment, we lay tangled together, both breathing hard, our hearts racing in tandem, our bodies still joined in the most intimate of embraces.
Neither of us seemed willing or able to move, as if separating would break whatever spell had woven itself around us.
When he finally lifted his head to look at me, his expression was soft, almost vulnerable—a side of him I suspected few ever saw.
"Are you all right?" he asked, brushing damp hair back from my face with infinite tenderness.
"I'm..." I couldn't find the words. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this—for him, for this overwhelming connection that felt like it had rewoven the very fabric of my soul. "That was..."
"Yes," he agreed, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips, his eyes warm with affection and something deeper, something that made my heart skip. "It was."
He carefully withdrew, making me wince slightly at the loss, and rolled to his side, pulling me against him with possessive gentleness.
I went willingly, tucking myself against his uninjured side, my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm that already felt like home.
I traced idle patterns on his skin, following the lines of old scars, each one a story I wanted to learn.
"Your wounds," I murmured, suddenly worried that we'd been too reckless, too consumed by desire to think about his injuries.
"Are fine." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering. "Better than fine. I told you—you are my best medicine."
I smiled against his skin, feeling boneless and satisfied in a way I'd never experienced before. My entire body felt different somehow, as if I'd been fundamentally changed by what we'd just shared. "If that's medicine, I think you need regular doses."
His laugh rumbled through his chest, warm and content, wrapping around me like a blanket. "I will not argue with my healer's orders."