Steam still clung to our skin when he stepped out of the bathroom, my body cradled against his chest. Every inch of me was bare against him, the strength in his arms holding me with effortless possession.
He paused just outside, eyes locking on the bed draped in candlelit gold and scattered with petals.
'!'
Then, without warning, his grip shifted—
And he tossed me down.
My back hit the mattress with a soft thud, the silk beneath me kissing against damp skin. The bounce lifted me slightly before I settled, my hair spilling out in loose, wet waves around me.
Petals stuck to my skin, sliding down as my breath steadied.
I lay there, spine sinking into the plush bed, arms falling open above me, my legs loose apart in a silent dare.
He blinked once. Twice.
Then he moved.
It wasn't a walk—it was a prowl. Every step deliberate, shoulders rolling forward, his eyes locked to mine in that way that made it feel like nothing else existed. My chest tightened as he closed the distance, the air between us almost humming with the weight of his presence.
Like a beast… walking toward his prey.
Except I wasn't prey. I was offering myself up.
He reached the side of the bed, and I expected—no, braced—for his mouth to claim mine. But instead his head dipped lower…
And his lips closed over my breast.
"Ahh—" The sound slipped out before I could contain it. My back arched off the bed instantly, the warmth of his mouth searing through me.
My hand shot to his hair, fingers tangling there, holding him to me as he sucked, slow but deep, tongue teasing over that sensitive peak before pulling it between his lips.
His other hand didn't lie idle—spreading over my other breast, kneading it in his palm, molding and testing me as if he owned every inch.
A shiver ran through me, but it turned to a jolt when I felt his free hand drift lower—skimming the softness of my stomach, brushing over my hip, then easing down between my thighs.
I didn't close them. Not an inch.
When his touch found me there, bare and already aching, my fingers tightened in his hair. The first press of his finger sliding inside stole my breath; the slow curl of it nearly unraveled it completely.
He didn't rush. Every movement was measured, deliberate—sliding deeper, retreating, coming back again, each time rubbing against that tender place that made my hips lift in involuntary answer.
His mouth stayed latched to me, drawing and tasting, while his hand on the other breast molded and coaxed my shape until I felt claimed all over.
My spine bowed again, lips parting, breath turning ragged. I wanted to cry out—but instead I bit into it, muffling my own moans with my teeth pressed against the inside of my lip.
'Why… am I so embarrassed?'
The thought was strange—he'd touched me so many times before, but now… now I was hyperaware.
Not just of what he was doing—but of his eyes, what they might see if he looked up.
And I realized with a quiet, shuddered breath… it was because I cared more now.
Because the way he saw me mattered more than it ever had.
He was a weight above me—shoulders, chest, arms—blocking all candlelight except for what kissed his back, his big, scarred frame like some living human beast leaning over my small self that was half his body mass, pure heat and power.
The flowers scattered around my body filled the air with sweetness that only made the slick, molten ache in me throb harder.
His hand on my breast slowed… and then stopped.
The sudden stillness made me open my eyes — just in time for him to pull back, his mouth leaving me with a last tug on my nipple that made me wince, a small gasp breaking free.
"What—?" The word was almost silent.
Then I saw it.
Between his thighs, hard and unwavering, he stood there — heavy, taut, the tip wet and glistening as though it couldn't bear another second of separation. My stomach clenched.
I swallowed hard. I've taken him before… so why does fear come now?
It was strange — my thighs pressed together on instinct, rubbing, my toes curling against the sheets. My hand gripped the bedding tight as I stole another glance, heat swirling low in my belly even as something inside me quaked.
He was watching me — but not in arrogance, not in hunger alone. There was confusion there, a flicker of something almost hesitant, as though he thought… I might be pulling away.
"Be gentle," I whispered, forcing the words through the knot in my throat. My eyes dropped, not able to meet his for what came next. "Just… don't hurt me."
I shifted, the silk of the sheet sliding against my damp skin as I lifted one leg, then the other, opening to him.
There was no shyness in the way I spread for him — only the strange mix of certainty and pounding nerves that made me look away, turning my head to the side.
Because I didn't want to see…
Didn't want to catch any frown in his eyes, not now.
He had called me beautiful a hundred times, but in that moment, the way he looked at me felt too important to risk.
The bed dipped above me — his shadow covering me entirely — and then something soft brushed my cheek.
A kiss.
Just a single, fleeting kiss.
My eyes flew open to find his face above mine, close enough that the warmth of his breath touched my lips. His massive frame loomed, but his expression… softer than I'd expected.
"Can you help me?" he murmured.
I blinked. "Help you?"
He didn't answer in words. He only lowered his gaze between us.
I followed it — lifting my head just enough to look down. But before the sight could fully register, his hand reached for a pillow and slid it beneath the base of my head.
It hit me then — the memory. The way he'd done the same thing the very first time, lifting me just slightly, bringing me into the perfect line with him. My pulse stuttered.
And then I saw… all of him.
Hanging there, heavy, the tip poised just above the ache between my legs.
Heat flared up my neck. My fingers shook against the sheet, then stilled when I realized exactly what he meant by "help."
The air between us felt thick. My chest rose faster as my eyes darted sideways, not looking at him — I didn't trust myself to. My body was already warm, slick under his shadow, my pulse echoing low in my hips.
I reached out, slowly, fingers closing around the thick, burning length of him. The skin there was hot against my palm.
My breath caught as I guided him downwards, the broad head nudging against my entrance.
The first press made me tense.
It wasn't pain — not yet — but that overwhelming fullness, that unyielding stretch that made me grit my teeth. My body remembered this shape, this pressure, but in the moment, it still felt almost impossible.
I could feel my heartbeat there — fluttering against him as my walls tried to take him in. A sting edged the heat, a slow, almost aching pull around me, reminding me how big he was, how deep he'd go.
I forced myself to breathe, to relax my hips even as instinct wanted to resist.
"I…" My voice trembled, barely more than a breath. I swallowed again. "I've… adjusted it. Press down… slowly."