Page 43 of Unconditionally Yours

I reach over to the drawer, grab lube, because she’s small and I’m not and I’ve never wanted to be gentle and filthy in equal measure like this before.

“Okay,” I whisper, slicking up my cock, “You’re gonna tell me if anything feels off, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” she teases, hips already tilting toward me. “Now wreck me.”

Oh, precious. I’m gonna ruin you sweetly.

She’s still shaking from her orgasm when I nudge her thighs open wider, but she doesn’t look tired. No, she looks possessed. Hair a mess, face flushed, still grinning up at me like she’s about to wreck my will to live.

“You ready?” I ask again, even though I already know the answer. My cock is slick in my hand, lube-glossed and throbbing, heavy enough it’s bobbing toward her on instinct. She licks her lips when she sees it.

“Oh, I’ve been ready,” she says, voice gone husky. “Just didn’t wanna scare you.”

“Scare me?”

“I can be a bit much,” she says. “But you. You’ve got the dick of a goddamn monument, Benji. It’s intimidating.”

I blush so hard it hurts. “It’s not.”

“It is,” she hisses, raking her nails down my chest. “You’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”

“Not if I prep you right,” I say, pushing the head against her, barely easing in.

She gasps, tenses, and then rolls her hips forward, needy and wild.

“Oh fuck, I can feel how big you are already. Benji, you’re, oh my god.”

I stop, frozen, only the tip in. Every muscle in my body is trembling with restraint. She’s hot and tight and already squeezing me like her body’s deciding I’m never leaving.

“Slow,” I pant, kissing her shoulder. “I need to go slow.”

“No, I need you in,” she growls, hooking her legs around my waist. “All of it. I want to feel every fucking inch, stretch me open like it’s your job, baby.”

Jesus Christ.

I ease forward another inch and she moans loud, uncontrolled, writhing like she’s possessed.

“There it is,” she whimpers. “Fuck, you’re so deep already. How the hell do you have more?”

I don’t answer. Can’t. My brain’s a static blur of holy shit and she’s taking me and don’t come don’t come don’t come.

“Keep going,” she urges, eyes fluttering. “I want to feel it in my lungs.”

“Jesus, yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, fuck say that again,” she begs, clawing at my back. “Say it while you fuck me. You feel so fucking good, Benji, you’re splitting me open like a present.”

I groan, hips rocking forward just a little too fast. Her gasp punches through me like lightning.

“You okay?”

“I’m obsessed,” she says. “I can feel you in my stomach, oh my god, you’re so fucking deep.”

My hips jerk.

She’s tight, soaking wet, and somehow still clenching like she’s trying to break me in half. She doesn’t feel fragile. She feels perfect.

“I need a second,” I manage, fighting every instinct to slam into her and lose my soul forever.