I’m climbing now, that familiar tension coiling tighter in my core. But it’s different this time. Because it’s no longer just my fingers—it’s the phantom weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
It’s his beard scraping against my inner thighs.
It’s his mouth on my center, licking and sucking until I’m screaming myself hoarse, just like he swore I would.
My hips buck against my hand. I add a third finger, stretching myself, imagining the impossible fullness of him inside me.
I’d bottom out and hold there, making you spasm with how big and cruel it is.
“Oh, God,” I breathe, too far gone to care if he hears.
He does. He falters for a second, then redoubles. The sounds coming from him now are almost animalistic: grunts and growls that make my toes curl and my walls clench around my o
