Chapter 6 #3
The stretch burns, a fierce ache that makes my breath hitch, but as I clench my inner walls around him, the pain begins to melt into something else—something deeper, hotter. His soft gasp sends a thrill through me, and I feel the way his cock twitches inside me, as if he’s struggling to hold back.
“Give it all to me,” I beg, my voice trembling with a mix of desperation and relief.
The sharpness is fading now, replaced by a dull throb that only amplifies the pleasure coiling in my core.
My body is adjusting, stretching to accommodate him, and the sensation is almost overwhelming—both painful and delicious.
Dante’s hands tighten on my hips, his thumb brushing over my clit in slow, soothing circles.
“You’re doing so well, Rosalina,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with praise.
“So tight, so perfect for me. My good girl.” His words wrap around me like a warm embrace, and I feel myself relaxing further, surrendering completely to the mix of pleasure and pain.
The ache is still there, a reminder of my virginity being taken, but it’s softer now, melting into the heat of his touch. My pussy pulses around him, craving more, and I tilt my hips slightly, seeking deeper. He groans, his cock twitching again as he pushes forward, giving me another inch.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “Take it all, my wife. You’re mine now.”
“You sure?”
“Please.”
He groans and pulls back on my hair, and as my pussy quakes around him, he finally relents, slamming the rest of the way inside of me. Ten perfect, devastating inches.
“Yes,” I groan, feeling him bottom out, my body stretched impossibly, beautifully full. “I need you to move.”
His hand shifts from my hip to grip the headboard. The wood groans under his strength. “I… fuck, Rosalina. You’re going to ruin me.”
“Not before you ruin me,” I breathe. “Now move.”
He doesn’t spank me again. He simply drags his hips back, letting that thick, veiny cock slide almost all the way out. As I whimper at the loss, he slams back inside, a brutal, perfect stroke.
“Oh, fuck!” I scream, the sensation of being filled so completely, so forcefully, short-circuiting my mind.
He sets a punishing rhythm. Back, then a hard, deep thrust. Each one steals the air from my lungs.
My body jolts on the bed. The pain is gone, utterly consumed by a pleasure so profound it feels like my bones are melting.
He’s so deep, hitting a place inside me that makes me see stars.
My fingers scramble against the sheets, clutching for purchase.
“That’s it,” he grunts, his voice strained. His muscular body is a symphony of tension above me, sweat glistening on his chest. “Take your husband’s cock. You were made for this. For me.”
His praise is a drug. I’m high on it, on him. My hips rise to meet his thrusts, a clumsy, eager counter-rhythm. The wet, slapping sounds of our joining are filthy and perfect. I’m so full. Every nerve is alight.
He leans down, his mouth capturing mine in a searing kiss. It’s messy, full of tongue and teeth and shared breath. “You feel like heaven,” he rasps against my lips. “Tight, hot, perfect heaven. My perfect wife.”
His words coil in my belly, tightening the spring of my pleasure again. I’m already so close. The relentless drag of him inside me, the pressure of his body on mine, the sheer ownership in his touch—it’s building me up to a shattering peak.
He changes the angle, lifting my hips higher. The next thrust rubs his length directly over that exquisite spot deep inside. A broken cry tears from my throat.
“There?” he demands, doing it again. And again.
“Yes! There! Dante, please!”
“Say my name,” he orders, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more frantic. His control is fraying. I can feel it in the tremor of his arms, hear it in the ragged edge of his breath.
“Dante!” I scream it, my voice raw.
“Good girl,” he snarls. And with one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and goes utterly still. A guttural roar rips from his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated release. I feel him swell, then pulse deep inside me, a hot, liquid rush that triggers my own climax.
It crashes over me without warning, a tsunami of sensation. My vision goes white. My back arches off the bed so violently I’m only connected to the world by where he’s locked inside me. I convulse around him, milking his release with each frantic, fluttering spasm. It’s endless, wracking, complete.
He collapses on top of me, his full weight a welcome anchor, keeping me from floating away. His face is buried in the crook of my neck, his hot breaths puffing against my damp skin. I can feel the frantic hammering of his heart against my chest, matching the wild rhythm of my own.
For long moments, there is only the sound of our ragged breathing, the faint scent of sex and sweat and him in the air. Slowly, the world swims back into focus. The silk beneath me. The cool air on my heated skin. The heavy, spent weight of him, still nestled intimately inside me.
He shifts first, lifting his head. His dark hair is disheveled, his eyes heavy-lidded and sated. He looks down at me, his gaze softening. He kisses me then, not with the devouring hunger from before, but with a firm, deep tenderness that makes my heart clench.