Page 105 of The Puck Contract

"Lube," I remind him, and I barely recognize my own voice.

He reaches around me for the bottle, and I hear the cap click open once more. The cool sensation of more slick being applied makes me shiver, his fingers gentle as they ensure I'm thoroughly prepared.

"Ready?" he asks, one hand guiding his cock, the other splayed across my stomach, steadying me.

In answer, I begin to lower myself, the pressure building as the head of his cock breaches me. The stretch is immediate and intense, far more than his fingers, and I freeze, a strangled sound caught in my throat.

"Easy," he soothes, lips pressed to my shoulder. "Breathe through it. You're in control."

I force myself to take a deep breath, focusing on relaxing the muscles that are clenched tight against the intrusion. Slowly, the burning sensation recedes, replaced by a fullness that walks the line between pleasure and pain.

I sink lower, taking another inch, and another, the stretch becoming more manageable as my body adjusts. Groover's breathing is ragged against my neck, his hands gentle but trembling with the effort of restraint.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, teeth scraping lightly along the juncture where neck meets shoulder. "So tight around me."

It’s his tone that encourages me to take more. With a deep breath, I lower myself fully, seating myself completely on his cock.

"Holy shit," I gasp, head falling back against his shoulder. "That's... fuck."

"Eloquent," he teases, but his voice is strained, the muscles in his thighs tense beneath mine. "How does it feel?"

"Full," I manage, experimentally clenching around him, which pulls a strangled sound from his throat. "So fucking full. But good. Really good."

His hands roam my body, one sliding up to pinch a nipple while the other wraps around my cock, which has softened slightly from the initial discomfort. I moan, pleasure quickly overtaking any remaining pain.

"Move when you're ready," he says, nipping at my earlobe. "Find what feels good."

I lift myself experimentally, just an inch or two before sinking back down. The slide of his cock inside me sends shocks up my spine, especially when the head drags against my prostate. I repeat the movement, lifting higher this time, establishing a slow rhythm that has us both panting.

"That's it," he encourages, hand moving lazily on my shaft. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me what you like."

He’s going to actually kill me.

It takes me a while to gain a semblance of confidence, but when I do, my pace increases. The position gives me complete control, letting me adjust the angle until I find the one that sends white-hot pleasure coursing through my veins with each downward motion.

"There," I gasp as his cock hits my prostate dead-on. "Right fucking there."

Groover's free hand slides up my chest to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a gentle pressure that makes me dizzy. His teeth find my shoulder, biting down just hard enough.

"You're taking me so well," he rasps. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."

I reach back, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling his head forward for an awkward but desperately hot kiss over my shoulder. The change in angle drives him impossibly deeper, making me gasp into his mouth.

"Ansel," I moan, the rhythm of my movements growing erratic as pleasure builds. "Why does this feel so good?"

"I've got you," he says, taking over when my thighs start to shake with exertion. His hips thrust upward as he pulls me down, the force of it driving the breath from my lungs. "Just feel."

And I do feel—every inch of him inside me, the slick slide of his hand on my cock, the heat of his body against mine. It's overwhelming in the best possible way, pleasure building with each perfectly angled thrust until I'm babbling incoherently, a stream of pleas and curses and his name.

"Gonna come," I warn, tension twisting tight in my core. "Fuck, I'm close."

"Yeah," he urges, pace increasing, driving into me with controlled force that makes the headboard knock against the wall. "Come for me. Come on my cock."

He’s the one. The one my body listens to. The only person that exists.

My demise.

Pleasure crashes through me with shocking intensity, whiting out my vision, arching my back as I spill over his hand and onto the sheets. My body clamps down around him, muscles contracting rhythmically as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me.

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