I reached down and slid them off. Tossed them off the side of the bed. I lay out with my legs open, wet and ready. I didn’t hide it or pretend like I wasn’t waiting for him.
He climbed over me, one knee between mine, c**k in his hand. He lined himself up.
“You sure?”
“Shut up,” I said. “And f**k me.”
He pushed in.
It didn’t hurt. It stretched. It filled. I gasped and gripped his arms, legs locking around his hips. He went slow at first—too slow—letting me feel every inch of him.
“Clara—s**t—”
He bottomed out and held there, buried deep, his chest pressed to mine.
I rocked my hips up. “Don’t hold back.”
He didn’t.
He pulled out nearly all the way, then slammed back in. The bed shook. I grunted. He did it again. Harder. Faster. My breath came in sharp gasps as he set the rhythm—dee
