Anita's fingers curled into the leather cushion. Her breath hitched again, ragged and uneven.
She could feel every inch of him stretching her—thick, unyielding, far bigger than anything she'd ever taken.
The pressure was overwhelming, borderline painful, yet beneath it burned a deep, aching heat that made her clit throb and her inner walls clench greedily around the intrusion.
Fresh slickness leaked out around him, dripping down the underside of his shaft, pooling against his heavy balls.
She should push him away.
She knew she should.
Her husband's face flashed behind her closed eyelids—worried, hopeful, still out there somewhere in the ruins.
Waiting. Believing she was still faithful. Still his.
But her hips… her hips didn't listen.
They gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible rock backward.
Not enough to take more of him. Just enough to feel the head shift slightly inside her, nudging against that sensitive front wall.
