My breath was already thin when the first slow push came.
The heavy thickness of him eased forward, and at once my body reacted — a trembling at the base of my spine, my toes curling hard against the sheets.
Heat spread from where we joined, the burn of the stretch making my hips instinctively tense before I forced them to relax underneath him.
"Unh..." The sound that slipped from me — soft, breathless — was one I didn't want to let him hear.
My hand came up quickly, covering my mouth, the heel of my palm pressing over parted lips as though I could hide how much I felt.
His eyes were on me, dark and unwavering, watching every flicker of my face as he sank in another inch.
The pressure built slowly, inch by inch, part heat, part ache — my walls clinging around him, adjusting, learning him all over again.
The closer he pressed, the more my heart hammered in my ribs, and the more I felt that now-familiar rush: the impossibility of fitting him, and the heady thrill in knowing he would.
Under my palm, a muffled whimper fought its way out anyway.
I tilted my head into the pillow, breaking eye contact, but I could feel his shadow over me, his chest brushing mine, his strength holding me in place as though he feared I might pull away.
He dipped lower — deeper into me — the water-warm glide giving way to a firmer, fuller stretch that had me gripping the sheet with my free hand.
I could barely think past the sensation: the shiver up my thighs, the tightness giving just a little more, the heat only he could draw from me.
Another muffled moan slipped against my hand and I thought wildly — if I move this hand, I'll cry out.
The slow press deepened, and my body reacted on instinct — tightening around him as though I could stop what my mind already knew I didn't want to stop.
The heat of him forged its way further inside, stretching me in a way that stole my breath.
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes before I even realized they'd formed.
My arms came up, folding over my own face.
I didn't want him to see them.
Didn't want him to see that this kind of fullness could make me tremble both from pleasure and from the sheer overwhelm of it.
"He's inside me…" the words slipped out, trembling, barely a whisper and yet loud enough for him to hear, "…ah—he is…"
Above me, his voice was low, steady, the sound vibrating through his chest.
"I will enter fully now."
My eyes flew wide.
For a moment it felt like all the air in the room had been stolen from my lungs — my chest lifted, searching for it, as my fingers clenched tighter in the sheets beneath my head.
And then… he pushed the rest of the way in.
His hips came forward, the heavy slap of his groin meeting the tender slick of mine making my eyes snap open.
The full length of him seated inside me sent a rush of heat that felt like too much and not enough all at once.
"Hhiek—" A sharp cry almost tore free, but my hand clamped harder over my mouth, muffling it into a broken sound swallowed by the air between us.
My body shuddered, still adjusting, my breathing ragged as I forced it to steady. Each inhale was shallow, trying to make space for the way he filled me so completely there was nowhere left inside to take more.
My thighs trembled, not from any urge to close, but from the awareness that he was buried in me entirely — deep enough I could feel every throb of his pulse against my own.
And I lay there under him, taking each slow breath like it might let me survive this moment, while inside… every part of me wanted him to move.
His hands covered both of my breasts at once, large and warm, gathering me into his palms as though he couldn't get enough of touching me.
His thumbs rolled over the peaks, circling, pressing until a shiver ran all the way down my spine.
When his fingers pinched just slightly, holding me there, his hips sank forward.
The weight of him there made my thighs tense for a moment — not to close, but to hold him deeper.
And then… he pulled back.
The air hit me first — cool sliding into the places that had been stretched and heated by him, my body protesting as the swollen fullness retreated.
My inner muscles clenched on instinct, trying to keep him, and the sensation was almost worse than when he'd entered — the emptiness swift, the ache immediate.
Before my body could mourn the loss, he pushed in again.
I gasped, head tilting back into the pillow, because the second entry felt sharper, my body already sensitive from the first.
Every glide forward spread that heat lower, the stretch making my toes curl into the sheets.
He set a rhythm — slow but firm — and every retreat made me feel him dragging along the tightest parts of me, every return pressing him back into the deepest place he could reach.
The contrast made my stomach clench and my chest rise sharply for breath again and again.
My hands found the curve of his arms, nails catching lightly in his skin as he moved — holding my breasts steady in his palms while his thumbs kept their torturous play, rubbing and squeezing in sync with every push.
It was impossible to separate what I felt… the heavy pull in my chest and the molten glide between my legs blurring into one pounding rhythm that made soft, unwilling moans escape my lips with each slide in.
"Unhm.... Ahhh...." I was embarrassed.
Embarrassed not because he was overwhelming, but because I felt shame hearing my own moans.
Maybe I was numb when we previously did it, I didn't care and was open, but it sounded strange whenever moans came.
But I noticed something... it was as if my body was not only hyperaware of his gaze but also of what he liked in me.
Whenever I moaned, he was flinching, giving deeper thrusts as if wanting to say he wanted to hear my voice.
It was strange until he himself said it.
"Haah... Wh-why are you not saying something, Luna?"
Even though he said that while giving another deeper stroke, I still covered my voice.
"Th-that's..." I didn't know what to say to him, how to say I was embarrassed yet wanting all of him.
I wanted him to show me how much he wanted me, craved me...
So, I just made an excuse, knowing I needed to stop those deeper thrusts which were stealing air from my lungs and make him slow down before I lost myself.
"Because... you are separating too much, pulling all of it out instead of just lying on me... and grinding."
I said it, feeling maybe that way I would be able to breathe and control my voice instead of being electrocuted by him.
"Oh, I didn't know, let me..." he said as I felt his hand leaving my breast, sliding up before suddenly cupping my face.
My eyes, through the gap of his arm, looked at him as I felt his body weight sinking on me, his firm, muscular, tight, wall-like chest on mine, his abs clearly pressed to my belly.
And his thing, it again filled everything, reaching the deepest of me, and then the meeting of our skin from top to bottom and his eyes boring into mine.
Sometimes I think my judgments are wrong, very wrong.
It was proven when he moved.
"Angh—!"