Page 44 of Riot

A second finger joined the first. He worked them deeper, slower, crooking them until they brushed against something that made my vision blur. My hips jerked, and a sound escaped me that was entirely involuntary.

“There.” The word came out strangled.

His mouth curved. He stroked that spot again, and my legs fell open wider. A third finger pushed in, the stretch bordering on too much but somehow still not enough. He scissored them gently, opening me up, taking his time despite the tension coiling in every line of his body.

“Ready,” I said. “Now. Please.”

Withdrawing his fingers, he shifted onto his knees between my legs, and for a moment, he just looked at me. His gaze traveled from my face down to my chest, my stomach, my cock leaking against my belly.

“So fucking gorgeous.” The words came out reverent. “Can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe it.” I reached for him, pulling him down on top of me. His weight pressed me into the mattress, solid and grounding. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his ass. “Now fuck me before I lose my mind.”

“Bossy,” he said again, but he was lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

The first push stole my breath. He went slowly, inch by inch, letting me adjust to the stretch. My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescents in his skin. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath coming hard and fast.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

He pushed deeper until his hips met mine and he was fully seated inside me. Full. I felt impossibly full, stretched around him, every nerve ending singing with the pressure. He held still, giving me time to adjust, but I didn’t need time. I needed him to move.

“Move,” I said. “Now.”

Pulling out almost all the way, he thrust back in. The drag of his cock against my walls sent sparks racing up my back. Again. He did it again, setting a slow rhythm that was simultaneously perfect and torture.

“Harder.” My legs tightened around his waist. “Can take it.”

His hips snapped forward, driving deeper, and a sound ripped from my throat that was half-moan, half-plea. Better. That was better. The angle hit something inside me that made my toes curl.

“Right there,” I managed. “Don’t stop.”

His hand found my hip, gripping hard enough to leave marks. Each thrust pushed me higher, building pressure low in my stomach. Sweat slicked our skin where our bodies pressed together. The sound of our breathing filled the room, ragged and uneven.

“Calvin.” My name came out broken. “Look at me.”

I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—and met his gaze. Something raw moved behind his expression. Not just want. Something deeper. Something that made my throat tight.

“Hi,” I whispered.

His laugh was breathless. “Hi.” He shifted his angle, driving deeper, and my brief moment of coherence shattered. “Want you to come for me. Can you do that?”

“Close.” The word came out strangled. “Really close.”

Touching myself was beyond my coordination, but his hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation pushed me past the edge. My vision went white, pleasure crashing through me in waves. Distantly, I felt his teeth sink into my shoulder—sharp, grounding—and the pain mixed with the pleasure until I couldn’t separate them.

I came across his fist and my stomach, a shout tearing from my throat. His hips stuttered, the rhythm faltering, and then he was pulsing inside me, a low groan vibrating against my shoulder where his teeth still held.

Time stretched. Shrank. Eventually, he released my shoulder and collapsed partially on top of me, careful not to crush me with his full weight. Both of us were breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.

“Okay,” I said finally.

“Okay?” His voice was muffled against my neck.

“That was…okay.”

He lifted his head, eyebrows drawing together. “Okay?”