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"A re you sure you're ready?" Sterling asks, his massive hand tracing slow, lazy circles across my bare back. Despite the casual tone, I can feel the tension vibrating through him, the coiled restraint simmering just beneath his steady touch.

"I've been ready for weeks," I murmur, pressing a slow kiss to the center of his broad, furred chest, feeling the way his heart kicks harder under my mouth. "You're the one who's been making us wait."

Sterling rumbles a low laugh—a sound that reverberates through my whole body—but when he speaks again, his voice is rougher, stripped down. "Caution is warranted," he says. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," I whisper, propping myself up on my elbows to meet his gaze head-on. Amber eyes—fierce and searching and heartbreakingly vulnerable, a look he saves only for me. "We've been working toward this for months," I say softly. "I trust you."

Something shifts in his expression—a softening so intense it steals the air right out of my lungs. He kisses me then—slow, deliberate, tender despite the simmering hunger thrumming through every line of his massive body.

"Shower first," Sterling murmurs against my mouth, his voice rough, almost shaking. "I'll prepare everything."

The hot water helps unknot the tension from my muscles, but it does nothing to settle the pounding of my heart. Every beat feels like a drum against my ribs, counting down to something inevitable. Something permanent.

When I finally step out, towel slung low around my waist, the bedroom has been transformed. The lights are low and golden, throwing soft shadows across the walls. Music—slow, wordless, winding through the air like smoke—drifts from hidden speakers. The bed has been remade in deep, dark sheets, the pillows arranged with a careful precision that speaks of hours of planning, not minutes.

And on the nightstand?—

An array of supplies laid out like offerings: bottles of lubricant, water bottles within easy reach, soft towels folded with careful precision. A neat line of plugs, each one gleaming under the low light in a slow, merciless escalation of size.

It hits me harder than I expect. The proof of how seriously Sterling's taking this—how much he's thought about it. Prepared for it. Prepared for me.

"Quite the production," I tease, my voice thinner than I'd like, trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves with humor.

Sterling looks up from where he's adjusting a pillow, his massive body gloriously naked, fur still damp from his own shower, muscles flexing under the dim light. He looks... devastating.

"This is an important night," he says simply, his voice so low and serious it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight to my core. "Come here."

I drop the towel without hesitation, my skin prickling under the intensity of his gaze, and cross the room on unsteady legs. Sterling meets me halfway, his massive hands—gentle but unyielding—guiding me into position. Flat on my back. Propped up just enough by pillows for comfort. Legs spread wide, trembling slightly.

Open. Vulnerable. His.

He kneels between my thighs, surveying me with a gaze that sharpens into something almost clinical—methodical and intent, like he's committing every inch of me to memory before he begins.

"We'll start with what's familiar," he says, squeezing a generous amount of lubricant into his palm and warming it between his hands. "Work up gradually. You tell me immediately if you need to stop. No pushing through pain. No trying to be brave. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I blurt out automatically, the words slipping free before I can even think.

Sterling freezes—just for a second—his eyes darkening, the muscles along his shoulders rippling tight with restraint. But he doesn't call attention to it. Just nods once, slow and deliberate, before refocusing on the task at hand.

The first touch of his slicked finger is almost too careful—lazy spirals tracing my entrance, coaxing my body to soften, to open under him. And God—I do. I melt for him, my body welcoming the slow, familiar pressure without a fight.

"Good," Sterling murmurs, voice deep and approving, stroking my thigh with his free hand as he presses a little deeper. "You're relaxing beautifully."

One finger becomes two, then three—the steady, careful stretch sending little tremors rolling through my stomach, even as my cock hardens, flushed and aching against my belly without a single touch. Sterling works me open with ruthless patience, his breathing staying steady even as mine turns frantic—broken. And then—he pulls his fingers free.

I gasp at the sudden loss, but before I can even whimper a protest, he leans in—and licks me. His tongue is hot, slick, relentless as it presses against my stretched rim, lapping me up like he's savoring it. Like he needs it.

A low, guttural sound rips out of me, my hips jolting helplessly off the bed, but Sterling only growls low in his throat and presses me down, holding me open with his huge hands, his mouth working me with obscene, devastating precision.

He doesn't just tease. He devours.

Long, deliberate strokes that have me writhing on the sheets, shaking, wrecked. Little thrusts of his tongue that push past the loosened ring, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my whole body. Dirty, wet, possessive licks that make my cock leak steadily against my stomach.

By the time he finally pulls back, I'm trembling, panting, my hole fluttering open and desperate, chasing the heat of his mouth.

Sterling sits back on his heels, looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. "Ready for the first plug?" he asks, voice dark and rough from what he just did to me.

I nod frantically, throat too tight to form words, every nerve in my body straining toward him, straining for more. He slicks the plug generously, then presses it to me—slow, firm, unrelenting—and it slips inside with a slick, practiced ease. My body welcomes it after so many weeks of training, but the stretch, the weight, the fullness still makes me gasp, my whole body arching into the sensation.

His eyes stay locked on mine, watching every flicker of pleasure flash across my face. Monitoring. Protecting. Owning.

"Perfect," he murmurs, rotating the plug just enough to make me gasp again, the pleasure sparking behind my eyes. "We'll leave this for a few minutes," he says, smoothing a massive, soothing hand over my thigh. "Let your body adjust. Let you start aching for more."

He leans in and kisses me—slow and deep, lazy and claiming—his other hand stroking slow, maddening patterns across my chest, occasionally tweaking the plug just enough to make me shudder. Each tiny movement keeps me perched right on the trembling edge of awareness, wrecked and waiting. When he finally withdraws it, I whimper at the sudden emptiness, my hips chasing the sensation without thinking.

"Patience," Sterling soothes, voice dark and molten, already reaching for the next size. "We have all night."

The progression continues—each plug slightly larger than the last, each left inside me longer, Sterling working my body open with meticulous, almost reverent care. Between each insertion, he distracts me with slow, consuming kisses and the lazy drag of his hands over my heated skin—keeping me balanced right at the edge of pleasure without ever letting me fall.

By the fourth plug—the largest we've ever attempted—sweat gleams slick on both our bodies. Sterling's control is visibly fraying now, his breathing heavier, the powerful lines of his body tensed with restraint. His massive cock stands fully erect between us, the thick head dark and leaking, a testament to just how much effort he's expending to hold back.

"Last one," Sterling says, voice rough as gravel as he removes the fourth plug with slow, careful hands. "This is the largest I could find, not quite the size of my knot, but close. If you can take this comfortably—" He breaks off, jaw clenching. "—then we'll try the real thing."

The final plug is intimidating—thicker than my fist, longer, curved slightly to target the prostate relentlessly. The flared base is wider too, hinting at the challenge Sterling's knot will eventually present. He coats it with generous amounts of lubricant, his hands steady even as the tension practically vibrates off him.

"Breathe," Sterling instructs, voice slipping into that commanding, grounding tone that never fails to calm me. "Bear down slightly as I push in."

The pressure is immediate and intense—a burning stretch that toes the razor edge between pleasure and pain. Sterling watches my face intently, advancing millimeter by careful millimeter, pausing every time he sees my expression tighten.

"Tell me how you feel," he demands, his big hand smoothing soothingly along my thigh even as the other remains perfectly still.

"Full," I gasp, muscles fluttering around the intrusion, fighting the instinct to tense. "But... good. Keep going."

His gaze softens for a heartbeat—something dark and hungry and impossibly tender flashing through those molten amber eyes—before he resumes. Slow, devastating pressure. Patient, inescapable stretch.

He grips my cock with his free hand, squeezing as he makes one more final, gentle push, and the plug slips completely inside, the widest part locking past the resistance, my body clenching reflexively around the narrower neck. The sensation is overwhelming—fullness beyond anything I've ever experienced, a constant, aching pressure against my prostate that leaves me dizzy with it.

"Beautiful," Sterling murmurs, voice almost reverent as he cups my thigh, his eyes devouring the sight of me stretched wide and trembling beneath him. "So fucking perfect."

He leaves it seated deep inside me for nearly twenty minutes, murmuring encouragement, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses across my chest, stroking my hair, distracting me with soft conversation and the occasional lazy tease of my nipples.

By the time he finally withdraws it—slow, careful, endlessly patient—I whimper at the sudden loss, my body clenching down around nothing, already aching for more. The emptiness feels violent, wrong, my hole fluttering helplessly in the cool air.

Sterling tosses the plug aside and settles back on his heels, staring down at me like a starving man faced with the only meal that could ever satisfy him.

"Look at you," he rasps, voice hoarse with tightly-leashed hunger. "All open for me. Fuck—" He drags one hand slowly down the inside of my thigh, his gaze molten and merciless. "You're winking at me, sweetheart. Begging to be ruined."

I sob under my breath, wrecked by the filthy sweetness of it—by how much I want to be ruined for him.

"You're ready," Sterling says, voice lower now, rougher with the weight of what's about to happen. "If you still want this... if you're still sure..."

I glance down at the already swollen base of his cock, but there's no hesitation left in me. Only need. Only him. I nod, my heart hammering against my ribs as Sterling positions himself carefully between my spread thighs. He lifts my hips with steady hands, adjusting the angle with a nest of pillows beneath my lower back, cradling me like something precious.

"Look at me," he says, voice firm but gentle. "Stay with me."

I meet his gaze—amber dark with tension—and hold it, anchoring myself in the fierceness of him as he presses the blunt head of his cock against my entrance. The first touch of the blunt head of his cock against my wrecked hole steals the air from my lungs—hot, alive in a way no synthetic plug ever could be. He advances with agonizing slowness, just enough to breach the tight ring of muscle—and freezes.

"Okay?" he rasps, his voice shredded by the effort it's taking not to shove deeper.

"Yes," I breathe, blinking against the sting of the stretch as my body remembers how to yield. "More."

He pushes forward again, tiny, torturous increments, pausing after each shift, letting me adjust, giving me all the control even as I can feel him shaking with the need to claim. When he's almost to his knot, a slight, instinctive tremor of his hips sends him deeper than either of us intended.

I can't hold back the hiss of discomfort that punches out of me.

Sterling freezes instantly, every massive muscle locking down tight. "Hank?" His voice breaks on my name, pure, ragged fear lacing the sound.

"Just... wait," I gasp, breathing hard through the sudden stretch. "Just give me a second?—"

But he's already pulling back. Withdrawing completely. The loss is immediate, brutal.

"I hurt you," Sterling says, flat and broken, like the words are knives dragging out of his throat.

"No," I protest immediately, reaching for him, desperate to tether him to me before he spirals. "It wasn't pain, just... a lot. I can take it. I want this?—"

Sterling shakes his head sharply, refusing to meet my eyes. "You tensed. You hissed." His voice is thick with self-recrimination. "You didn't even have to say it. I saw it." He moves away—retreating, protective, punishing himself—every line of his massive body pulled tight with guilt.

"Sterling," I plead, trying to catch his hand, to catch him, but he's already moving away, lowering himself stiffly onto the far side of the bed. He buries his head in his arms, his enormous frame folding inward, radiating misery.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into the pillow, the words thick and broken. "I should have been more careful."

The sight of him—this towering, feral, powerful creature curled into himself like a kid who thinks he broke his favorite toy—wrecks me in a whole different way. Melts every trace of frustration straight out of me. Because underneath all that strength, all that dominance, he's terrified of hurting me. Terrified of losing me before he's even really had me.

And God—I love him for it.

I crawl across the bed, settling beside him, resting a careful hand against the broad expanse of his back. His fur is warm and damp, his massive body shuddering under the strain of everything he's holding back.

"Hey," I say softly. "Look at me."

Sterling turns his head just enough to meet my gaze. His amber eyes—usually so fierce—are raw now, shining with self-recrimination. "I promised I wouldn't hurt you," he says, the words gutted and broken.

"You didn't," I say firmly, stroking my hand down the thick line of his spine, feeling the muscles flinch under my touch. "It was just uncomfortable for a moment. That's part of the process."

"There shouldn't be discomfort," he mutters stubbornly. "If I'd prepared you properly?—"

"Stop," I interrupt, sliding over him, straddling his massive thighs and forcing him to feel the heat and weight of my body. The position lets me reach the full width of his back, and I start massaging the dense muscle with slow, deliberate strokes. "You're being too hard on yourself," I murmur, kneading the thick knots of tension at his shoulders. "Maybe we just need a different position next time. One where I can control the depth and pace."

Sterling grunts—low and reluctant—but under my hands, the steel tension starts to ease. Little by little, his massive frame softens beneath me.

"That feels good," he admits after a long moment, voice muffled into the pillow.

"Good," I whisper, smiling despite the tight ache in my chest. "Just relax. Let me take care of you for a change."

Something about the shift—the reversal, the tenderness—thickens the air between us, sweet and hot and heavy. My own arousal, which had dulled during our aborted attempt, surges back with startling force.

I shift against him, letting my hardening cock drag slow, deliberate strokes along the cleft of his ass. Sterling tenses—just for a breath—then exhales, his massive body pushing subtly back into me, a silent, desperate plea.

"Would you let me?" I ask quietly, my voice rough, my hands stilling low on his back. "Like before?"

In answer, Sterling arches his back—an invitation so raw and trusting it steals the air from my lungs.

"I want to taste you first," I tell him, the words falling out in a voice I barely recognize—wrecked and filthy and so full of need it's a miracle I can still breathe.

Sterling makes a broken, helpless sound—half groan, half whimper—burying his face deeper into the pillow as I spread him open carefully, reverently. For a heartbeat, the sheer intimacy of it nearly undoes me. And then—I lean in and lick him.

Slow. Deliberate. Claiming.

The first taste of him explodes across my tongue—salty, earthy, dark—and I can't stop the desperate sound that rips from my throat. I press in harder, wetter, licking deep, claiming him from the inside out like he's something sacred and filthy all at once.

Sterling's whole body shudders violently, a deep, ragged groan vibrating out of him. His thighs tremble under my hands, his muscles flexing helplessly, his breath breaking into ragged gasps against the mattress.

"Fuck, Hank," he chokes out, voice wrecked and wild. "Your mouth... you're gonna kill me..."

Pride surges through me, hot and thick, drowning every ounce of hesitation. I lick him harder now—broad strokes mixed with savage little thrusts of my tongue, driving him insane, driving myself insane—until he's writhing, hips jerking, his massive body begging without words. When I finally pull back for air, Sterling is panting raggedly, vibrating with need.

I coat my fingers with lube, working the lube carefully into him, feeling him yield—eager, open, wanting—to every slow, reverent push.

"You like that, don't you?" I murmur, hearing my own voice go darker, filthier. "Like me opening you up... getting you ready for my cock."

Sterling groans, pressing back against my hand.

"Yes," he growls, voice shaking. "Please, Hank. I need you."

The raw, desperate confession makes my cock ache so hard it hurts. I work him open slowly, feeling the thick, responsive clutch of his body give and flutter around my fingers, savoring every trembling gasp he can't hold back. When I finally slick myself and line up—heart hammering against my ribs—I pause, grounding both of us.

"Tell me if it's too much," I echo his earlier caution, even though my whole body is thrumming with the need to take him, to claim him, to make him mine.

Sterling just growls low in his chest and thrusts his hips back, a demand, a plea, a promise.

I press forward—and God.

The first push inside is pure, shattering heaven. Hot, tight, almost too tight. The muscles of his entrance clench down hard around the head of my cock, and I have to grit my teeth, fighting not to spill instantly. It feels like pushing into a velvet vise—hot, slick, and hungry. Every inch I gain is a battle—his body squeezing around me, fluttering, squeezing like he doesn't know if he wants to force me out or pull me deeper.

He's so big, so tight that the pressure is dizzying, a constant, maddening resistance that drags an inhumane sound from my throat. Every tiny movement sends sparks of pleasure ricocheting up my spine, my cock throbbing with the desperate need to bury itself all the way inside him. I sink deeper, inch by trembling inch, and Sterling's whole body shudders under me—huge, unstoppable, yielding only to me.

By the time I bottom out, fully seated inside him, my whole body is shaking with the effort it takes not to move. Not to pound into him like an animal. He's breathing hard, his huge hands clawing at the sheets, the muscles of his back gleaming with sweat.

"You feel..." I choke on the words, overwhelmed. "God, Sterling. You feel fucking perfect." I run my hands reverently over the broad, sweat-slicked planes of his back, grounding both of us. Feeling him tremble. Feeling him take me.

"Move," Sterling growls, voice ragged, almost breaking. "Don't hold back. I need it."

Permission granted, I start to thrust, establishing a rhythm, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of us. Sterling meets every thrust eagerly, his massive body rocking beneath mine, the sounds he makes—deep, primal, broken—sending white-hot lightning racing up my spine.

"Up," I gasp, struggling to keep the right angle. "On your knees."

Sterling complies immediately, rising to hands and knees without dislodging me, spreading his legs wide so we're on the same level. The new position lets me drive deeper, drawing a satisfied rumble from deep in his chest. The size difference—the sheer wildness of it—only makes it hotter.

"Touch yourself," I urge, voice wrecked. "Want to feel you come while I'm inside you."

Sterling shifts his weight to one arm, his massive hand wrapping around his cock, pumping in time with my thrusts. I lean forward, reaching around to wrap my hand around as much of his knot as I can, squeezing every time I bury my cock inside him.

"That's it," I pant, hips slamming harder, rougher. "Love watching you fall apart. Love seeing this huge, powerful body taking my cock so fucking perfectly."

Sterling's breathing breaks apart, his movements growing frantic, desperate.

"Hank," he gasps, voice dropping into that low, devastating register that vibrates straight into my bones. "Close."

"Me too," I gasp, pleasure building to a fever pitch. "Come for me, Sterling. I want to feel you fall apart with my cock buried inside you."

Sterling's hand clamps down over mine—huge, rough, desperate—his fingers threading between mine, squeezing tight like he's trying to anchor himself through the onslaught.

And then he breaks.

With a guttural, broken roar that vibrates through his entire massive frame, Sterling comes—his body seizing, shuddering under me in uncontrollable spasms. Thick, hot pulses of his release spill across the sheets, wet and messy, soaking the bed beneath us. His inner muscles clamp down around me with brutal force—tight, hot, rippling in hard, unstoppable waves—and the first violent contraction rips the air straight out of my lungs.

The sensation—being squeezed so fiercely, so possessively—tears the orgasm from me like a goddamn tidal wave. I cry out—half sob, half shout—slamming my hips deep into him one last time as I spill inside him, flooding him with everything I have, my cock throbbing wildly inside the relentless vise of his body.

Every nerve ending lights up at once—white-hot, electric—sparking through me in brutal, endless aftershocks. I feel every pulse, every contraction, every desperate, helpless squeeze of his body milking my cock, refusing to let me go. The world goes blinding around the edges—nothing but heat and breath and frantic, broken gasps tangled between us—until all that's left is the two of us, wrecked and shaking, bodies locked together in a slick, trembling knot of sweat and come and need.

We collapse together—a sweaty, gasping heap of tangled limbs, pounding hearts, and blissed-out exhaustion. When I finally slip free, slick and spent, Sterling rolls onto the other side of the bed, pulling me with him, wrapping those huge arms around me like armor, like he could somehow shield us both from the entire world.

"That was..." Sterling starts, his voice dazed and rough around the edges. He huffs out a breathless laugh against my hair. "Unexpected."

"Good unexpected?" I ask, suddenly shy again despite everything we just did.

Sterling presses a slow, reverent kiss to the top of my head. "Very good," he murmurs. "Though not what I had planned for today."

"Tomorrow," I murmur, tracing lazy, featherlight patterns across his chest. "Tomorrow we try again. My pace. My rules."

Sterling nods, the motion subtle, reverent. "I'm sorry I overreacted," he says, voice raw and thick with emotion. "The thought of hurting you?—"

"You didn't," I interrupt, pressing a kiss right over his heart, feeling the steady thrum against my lips. "And even if there's discomfort at first... it's worth it." You're worth it.

His arms tighten around me, pulling me so close it feels like he's trying to fuse us together, like if he just holds on hard enough, nothing could ever tear us apart.

"We'll figure it out," Sterling promises, his voice low and sure, anchored in a kind of certainty that lodges deep in my chest. "Together."

We drift into a heavy, honey-thick silence, the only sounds our mingled breathing and the slowing pound of our heartbeats. Sterling presses sleepy, absent kisses to my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth—soft, claiming touches, like he's memorizing me with his lips.

"Sleep," he murmurs, pulling the blanket up over us with one hand, never loosening his grip with the other. "We have all weekend."

The last thought I have before sleep claims me is simple, certain: We were always meant to fit. Even when everything else said we shouldn't.