Page 107 of IRL: In Real Life
He leaned toward the nightstand, and I heard the drawer slide open. Heard the soft tear of foil.
Watching him roll the condom down over all that thick, hard length with those veined hands and that unhurried confidence widened something in me that had nothing to do with lust alone.
It was the care in it.
The certainty.
The fact that he was still thinking even now, still making sure, still bringing all that control into the room instead of letting desire make him careless with me.
Then he came back over me, and my body answered before he even touched me.
He slid my leg higher over his hip and ran the head of his dick through my wetness once, slow enough to make me arch and grab for him.
“Micah.”
“Yeah.”
“Please.”
He shut his eyes for one beat at that. When he opened them again, whatever he had been holding together all evening looked like it was hanging on by a thread.
“I’m gonna handle it now,” he said, voice dark and wrecked. “I’m gonna show you what we held off on doing. Right here. Right now.”
Then he pushed in.
Slow enough for me to feel all of it.
The stretch first. Then the thickness. Then that deep, crowding fullness inch by inch until my mouth fell open and every muscle in me drew tight around the sheer fact of him.
He was too much for a second.
Then nowhere near enough.
I grabbed his shoulders and held on while he pressed his forehead to mine and stayed there, letting me have every bit of the feeling.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I breathed, and because I was too far gone already to sound delicate, I added, “Don’t stop.”
That tore something low and rough out of him.
He moved slow at first, but not to tease me. Because he needed to feel it too. Each stroke landed deep enough to remind me how thick he was, how full he felt, how much room he took up once he got where he wanted to be. His hand stayed firm atmy thigh, keeping me open for him, and when the angle shifted, the next stroke hit so deep I cried out before I could stop myself.
“There,” I gasped.
His mouth found mine.
“Yeah,” he said against it. “That’s it.”
The rhythm changed after that. He started giving me more of it, harder now, deeper, his control still there but fraying where I could feel it. The bed answered us. So did I. My nails dragged down his back. My bangles sounded once when I reached up for him. Sweat gathered between my breasts and at my neck. Between my thighs, everything felt too slick, too full, too good for me to manage with any kind of dignity.
He kissed down my throat, voice gone dark against my skin.
“You know what you did to me in that truck?” His hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit with terrible, perfect precision. “You know what feeling that wet pussy grabbing my fingers did?”
My thighs shook.
He thrust deeper, and I arched under him.
