He cups my breasts, thumbs brushing my n*****s, staring up like he can’t believe I’m real. “From the second you walked down that aisle on the plane,” he says, voice rough, “I pictured you just like this. Riding me. Taking every inch.”
I giggle, breathless. “You always get your way?”
“Every damn time.”
He grips my hips harder, slams me down. We both groan.
“So f*****g tight,” he grits out.
Eyes locked, he moves me slowly at first, then faster. I feel every ridge, every pulse. I lean forward, kiss him deep, lick into his mouth.
“You feel perfect,” I whisper. “So damn perfect inside me.”
His head tips back; eyes flutter shut for a second. “You’re killing me.”
He lifts me by the hips, drops me hard again. I laugh at the shock of it full, stretched, and owned.
“God, yes fill me,” I moa
