I kissed her again—slow, filthy, claiming—while I held perfectly still, letting her cunt ripple and milk and weep around those seven sacred inches.
Because this moment—this legendary, suspended claiming—was worth more than any thrust.
And I wasn't moving until she begged me to ruin her completely.
I stayed buried seven inches deep inside her—motionless, unyielding—letting those twenty-five years of starvation pulse and ripple around me like a living heartbeat.
Her pussy was still clenching in frantic, grateful spasms, walls fluttering wildly around the thick, veined length that had finally answered its decades-long ache.
Every tiny contraction sent fresh cream leaking out around my base, hot and slippery, dripping in slow, obscene trails down my balls to soak the sheets beneath us. Her clit throbbed visibly against my pubic bone—trapped, oversensitive, jerking with every frantic beat of her heart.
