I pushed in.
Slowly, an inch.
The heat was unbearable, a velvet fist closed around me, demanding and perfect.
I gasped, and squeezed my eyes shut. Then went another inch.
My whole body trembled. I'm going to burst. Right now. I can't hold. The sensation of being sheathed, finally, after so long empty and straining, was an agony of pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
I bottomed out, went back fully inside her, and a broken sound escaped my throat.
I stayed there for a moment, buried in her, feeling her inner muscles flutter around me in a lazy, welcoming pulse. My knuckles were white where I gripped the sheets beside her head. Control. You have to control it.
I began to move.
A withdrawal, agonizingly slow motion. A thrust out, and back in, just as measured.
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached.
Each drag of my flesh against her tight, wet channel was a masterpiece of torture.
Pleasure, raw and electric, shot up my spine with every motion, pooling in my abdomen, adding to the critical mass of need in my balls.
I was a man balancing on a razor's edge.
Then the edge crumbled.
The urge, the biological imperative, rose like a tidal wave. It started as a tremor in my thighs, then a hardening of my stomach.
My hips, acting on a primal script my mind could no longer dictate, began to piston faster. The slow, controlled rhythm shattered. It was no longer a choice; it was a reflex. In. Out. Deeper. More.
My eyes flew open, seeking her face, needing to see her reaction to my loss of control.
Her head was tilted back against the pillows, her eyes shut. Her lips were parted, and a soft, continuous moan drifted from them. Her hands had come up to grasp my biceps, her nails biting slightly into my skin.
She was lost in it, enjoying it. The sight was like pouring gasoline on the fire raging inside me. My arousal, already at a breaking point, redoubled. A desperate, clawing need took hold.
Fuck.. I'm chasing it.
The realization was a flash of lightning in the storm of sensation. I wasn't just fucking her, I was pursuing my release, my climax, the end of this constant, throbbing ache. I tried to slam on the brakes, tried to slow the frantic pounding of my hips into her soft, welcoming flesh.
Then she moaned again, louder this time, a sinful, drawn-out sound of pure satisfaction. "Yes… just like that…"
Just like that, the brakes were gone.
The control was incinerated. A guttural groan tore from my own throat in answer. I drove into her, deeper than before, each thrust a violent, claiming snap of my hips.
The bed began to creak in a steady, frantic rhythm. The world narrowed to the slap of skin on skin, the wet, slick sounds of our joining, the ragged symphony of our breaths. Her heat consumed me, her tightness milked me, and the pressure in my groin became a screaming, white-hot singularity.
Why isn't she stopping me?