Page 25 of One Night with the Werewolf
“There we go,” he murmurs, sitting back on his knees. He goes surprisingly slow, fully encasing himself in me before drawing back, then shoving himself in as far as he can go. Those bulbs at the base of his cock are already making themselves known, gently applying pressure with every thrust. He slows even further, fisting his cock and swirling it around as if coaxing me open.
Roscoe’s voice is raspy as he says, “Relax for me.”
I try to do as I’m told, steadying my breathing and relaxing my muscles as he tries again, pushing in deep, that bulgeapplying so much pressure to my pussy I might just break. But he’s never forceful, simply pumping his hips slowly and deliberately, and it’s so exquisite that shocks of bliss are pulsing through me.
But I’m still not spread enough to let him through. Releasing my thigh, Roscoe drops forward onto his hands, so now our bodies are pressed together and his delectable face is only inches from mine.
“What a wonderful woman you are,” he croons, smoothing one hand down my chest to my belly. “Carrying my baby. Right here.”
I didn’t think he would bring that into his dirty talk, but it utterly electrifies me.
“Right there,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck to bring him even closer while my thighs encircle his hips. Roscoe groans, and his knot applies even more pressure. Slowly, my body parts for it, as slick and soft as I am. Only a little at first, but it’s enough to send me skyrocketing as the bulges press through, stretching me as far as I can go.
“Yes, Emelia.” He kisses my forehead, then my cheeks, then my nose and lips. “Let me inside you. All of me.”
I need it so desperately that my body obeys. His fat knot squeezes in, until suddenly it’s inside me, and I’m so completely, utterly full that I cry out his name.
“What a good girl.” Roscoe curls his arm under me, holding me in place as he pulls back out, then shoves that massive thing back in. Holy hell, I’ve never felt anything like that. I’m already so close again. His cockhead stimulates my G-spot while his knot stretches me open, and every muscle and tendon in my body is taut as a wire.
“Look at you,” he says in my ear, “taking me so well.”
All I can do is whine helplessly as he fucks me faster, that knot slicking in and out in a torturous, beautiful motion. I feellike I might just combust, my whole body begging to release this incredible, glorious, overwhelming pressure. If the world ended right now, I would be happy I had this with Roscoe. Even if I were dead, I would never forget it.
“I’m—I’m—I’m—” I can’t even form a sentence with how far gone I am. “I’m going to—Roscoe!”
He clutches me tighter, moving faster now, that fat bulge squeezing through and then pulling back, making a wet popping sound with every pump of his powerful hips. God, his ass, his chest, his abs, hisface—I can barely stand it, how much I already adore this man, how wonderful and yet terrifying the idea of raising a child with him is.
That’s it. That’s the thought that makes the world go dark and the pleasure to explode outward like a bomb going off. I scream as it takes me, whirling me into oblivion.
“Oh, fuck,” Roscoe says, his voice almost sounding panicked. “God, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect.” He lets out the same animalistic howl as the last time, and it echoes around the room as he continues his rapid pace. Then, suddenly, he jams himself in deep, and my orgasm rears up even greater, even more magnificent.
I think I’m going to die with that knot buried in me. I clamp down tight around it, and Ifeelit as he comes, releasing heat deep inside me. There’s so much that I sense a growing weight there, and Roscoe’s cock is wedged inside me so tight that nothing can escape. I moan, my pussy desperately trying to eject him as it clamps down, but he’s not going anywhere.
“Yes, Emelia, milk my knot.” Roscoe is panting hard, chest heaving, my breasts squashed by his body weight. I’m so blissed-out, so exhausted from everything, that I can’t utter a word. All I can do is look into his green eyes, which are so soft, so warm, that my heart constricts.
We stay like that for some time, merely looking at each other, his knot still wedged inside me. It’s larger than it was when he first pushed it in, and I can barely stand the stretch.
“How long does it… stay like that?” I ask, hoarse from screaming.
“I don’t know.” Roscoe bites his lip. “I’ve never knotted anyone before.”
Right, I’m his first time.
“Eighteen years you’ve waited?”
He leans down to brush his lips over mine. “Eighteen years. For you.”
Curling his arm underneath me, he holds me even closer as he keeps himself propped up—and not crushing me—with the other arm. And still, the knot remains seated, and no matter how hard my muscles push, he stays there. It’s strangely comforting to still be connected, like we don’t have to end this just yet.
“Emelia, I think you should move in.”
I didn’t realize I’d started drifting off when Roscoe speaks. I blink open bleary eyes. I’ve cried too much today.
“To your house?” I ask.
“It doesn’t have to be now. But… if you want to. Of course. Only if you want to. I would just… I would like it if…”
I’ve never heard him so uncertain. Usually Roscoe is confident, if a bit rough.
