When I’ve inched the tip of his shaft inside of me, between that tight ring of nerve endings that ripple and dampen around him, my head falls back and I moan at the ceiling. It’s almost too much to look at Jace, at his seething muscles, the stark lines of his throat that stand out more and more with every inch I slide down, down, until he’s mostly in? I think? We both look down at where our bodies are joining together, the huge trunk of his erection only halfway hidden in my folds and digging my nails into his pectorals, I rock side to side, determined to take more.
“f**k oh f**k oh f**k,” he chants, sweat breaking out on his forehead, upper lip, the valley in between his pecs. “Jesus, Aleera, how tight is that thing?”
I lean down until our foreheads are pressed together. “Tight,” I say,
