He pushed.
I was so open, so empty, that he slid in all the way with almost no resistance. But the stretch was still there—the fullness of something so much bigger than Ethan had ever been.
"Oh god," I breathed.
"Look at me."
I looked. He was watching me with an intensity that made my chest ache.
"You're beautiful," he said. "You're so f*****g beautiful."
He started moving.
Slowly at first. Every stroke was deliberate, deep, like he was mapping the shape of me. I could feel him inside me—not a tight grip, but a presence. A weight. A heat.
"Harder," I whispered. "Please."
He pushed deeper.
The sound of it was shameful—wet and soft, the unmistakable sound of a body that couldn't hold onto what was inside it.
But Daniel didn't stop. He didn't look disappointed. He looked focused.
