I told myself I was being reasonable. Responsible. Giving her space after what I said.
Marry me.
I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It slipped out while I
was still inside her, drunk on the way her body wrapped around me like velvet
heat and her scent clung to my skin.
She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. She just looked at me
with those eyes that made me want to kneel at her feet and bend her over the
nearest surface all in the same breath.
I left for work with her still in my lungs.
Thirty-six hours passed and I couldn’t take it anymore.
I drove to her place after my shift, still in scrubs,
adrenaline burned out and replaced with something more dangerous. I didn’t
knock like a gentleman. I didn’t text like a friend. I just showed up.
When she opened the door, she was naked under that thin
robe—nothing underneath.
She didn’t say a word.
Just dropped the robe and let it fall like a fucking
invitation.
My cock responded instantly, pushing hard against the front
of my pants. I stepped inside and shut the door, locking it behind me like I
was sealing us in. My hands were on her before I even had the sense to
speak—mouth crashing to hers, tongue searching, tasting her like I’d been dying
of thirst.
She was already wet. I could feel it when I cupped her
between the legs, slick heat coating my fingers. Her body knew me.
Missed me. Welcomed me like I never left.
I turned her around, pressed her chest to the door, and
yanked my scrubs down just far enough.
Then I sank into her.
That first thrust - fuck. She gasped, and I nearly lost it.
She was tight, warm, perfect. Her ass bounced against me as I slammed in deep
again and again, my fingers digging into her hips. I grunted with every thrust,
completely feral. I needed this woman.
“You’re mine,” I growled, my hand wrapping around her
throat, gently pulling her back against me so I could bite her shoulder. “Say
it.”
“Yes,” she moaned. “I’m yours. All yours.”
That made me snap.
I fucked her like I needed to make her body remember
me, even if her heart wasn’t sure. Hard, rough strokes that made her cry out,
her fingernails scraping at the doorframe for balance. I didn’t care about
grace. I cared about claiming her—burying myself so deep she’d feel me
for days.
When I came, it was violent. Hot. Mine. I stayed inside her,
breathing heavy, arms around her waist as I kissed the back of her neck and
tried to slow down my pulse.
But it didn’t last long.
The moment she turned around, lips swollen and eyes glazed
over, I knew we were far from done.
I carried her to the couch, laid her out, and knelt between
her thighs. I licked her slow and deep, tasting the mix of both of us, watching
her writhe. She begged me to fuck her again, but I wanted her to scream for it.
I sucked her clit until she shook. Then, when her voice cracked, I slid two
fingers into her, curling them just right. She shattered on my tongue.
Only then did I climb back over her, hard and aching, and
thrust back inside.
This time I made love to her. Deep, slow, grinding strokes
that made her eyes flutter closed, and her hips roll up to meet mine. I kissed
her throat, her lips, whispered things I wouldn’t dare say in the light of day.
When she finally agreed to be my girlfriend, I didn’t cheer
or smile—I just flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips back, and took
her again like I was sealing the deal with my body.
The next morning, she looked wrecked and perfect.
I took her into the shower. Washed her hair. Massaged her
back. Kissed every inch of her.
Then I fucked her again—this time against the slick tile
wall, her leg over my shoulder, my dick plunging deep as the water ran down her
breasts.
She moaned into my mouth, one hand clawing the glass, the
other fisting in my wet hair as I filled her repeatedly.
That entire day, I couldn’t stop touching her. We barely
ate. We barely left the bed. Every time I looked at her, my dick twitched with
need.
She tried to rest. I wouldn’t let her.
I fingered her awake. Made her ride me. Watched her tits
bounce as she moaned my name and slammed down onto me over and over until I had
to grab her hips and take over, thrusting up into her until she
collapsed onto my chest, breathless and soaking.
That night, it was different.
The craving didn’t fade—it deepened.
I needed to see her break for me. I needed to remind
her what she did to me. So I tied her wrists with my belt, threw one of her
legs over my shoulder, and took her in slow, torturous strokes. Teasing her.
Making her beg.
I slapped her ass gently when she teased back. She gasped.
Eyes wide.
She liked it.
So I did it again.
“You gonna be good for me?” I asked, rubbing her clit slow,
watching her hips twitch.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Then take it.”
I drove into her like I was trying to brand her from the
inside out.
She cried out, body arching, eyes fluttering shut—and I
didn’t stop until I had her trembling in my arms, my name on her lips like a
confession.
When I finally came, it was deep, possessive, drawn-out. I
held her close, grinding through the aftershocks as our bodies stuck together
with sweat and lust and something dangerously close to love.
Afterward, I watched her sleep on my chest.
I knew she wasn’t ready for forever.
But she’d already given me something more powerful than a
ring.
She’d let me all the way in.
And I wasn’t going anywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment