I don’t even know how we got here.

One second, I was teasing him—just a little, biting my lip, saying something smart...

And the next, I was on my back.

Legs spread.

Eyes barely open.

Whimpering.

He was deep inside me, slow and steady, one hand on my throat—not tight, just there. Just present.

The other cupping my cheek.
Like I was fragile. Like I was precious.

And the way he looked at me—God—
Like I was his whole world.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Taking me so well.”

My whole body clenched.

I couldn’t stop it—my hips rolled up to meet him like I needed him deeper, fuller.

I needed to feel it.

Every word. Every inch. Every breath.

“You're such a good girl for me,” he said.

My eyes fluttered shut and I moaned—that filthy, helpless, broken kind of sound I only make when I’m completely gone for him.

And he just smiled.

“There she is,” he whispered. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

I could feel it happening—my body building to the edge again, my thighs trembling around him, nails digging into his back like I needed to hold on or float away.

“Come for me,” he said, voice low, rough, reverent.

“Show me how sweet you are when you fall apart.”

And just like that—

I did.

Shaking, crying out his name like it was a prayer, my whole body unraveling around him.

And he held me through all of it.
Kissing my forehead.
Whispering, “That’s my girl.”