•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•✾•⋅⊰∙∘☾✶☽∘∙⊱⋅•
He simply caught my wrist with his free hand that was on my dick and pinned it to the mattress beside my head, never pausing the slow thrust of his fingers.
The casual strength of it...holding me down while he continued to work me open like it was nothing.
It twisted something hot and helpless low in my stomach and forced another soft, broken sound from my throat.
"Every time I curl my fingers just like this..." He demonstrated again, pressing firmly against that sensitive spot until my back arched off the bed with a sound that was like a combination of a gasp and a groan.
"There, that sound, keep making it for me. I missed hearing you fall apart like this."
I was panting now, free hand clenched hard in the sheets, knuckles white. No matter how much I cursed him or tried to chase more friction, he kept the same torturous pace.
Whenever my breathing sharpened or urgency crept into my movements, he slowed or paused entirely, waiting until I was swearing at him again in a breathless voice before returning to that fuckass rhythm.
It was intentional...and it was so goddamn cruel!
And it was working far too well, leaving me aching, wet, dripping, completely at his mercy.
When he added a third finger I was already trembling, every muscle tight with need.
The stretch was exquisite, slow yet relentless as he continued to open me for what was coming.
The feeling of being filled while his other hand leaving my wrist then stroking my cock again made coherent thought nearly impossible.
Every nerve ending felt lit up, every muscle taut with the conflicting need for more and the frustration of being held on the edge.
The wet, rhythmic sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of me echoed in the quiet room.
My body clenched around him each time he pulled almost free, trying desperately to keep him inside, and he never failed to comment on it in that low, rough voice that shot straight through me.
"Listen to you," he murmured against my neck, leaning down to bite gently at the tendon there while his fingers worked deeper, curling without mercy.
"So wet for me. Your dick keeps twitching in my hand no matter what you say. Feel how easily you’re taking three now? I’ve done such a great job stretching you out, haven’t I?"
"You could take any dick now, no matter how big it is..." He spread more precum over the head with his thumb on the next upstroke; the added slickness made me gasp and rock against the dual sensations.
"Too bad it’s only mine you’re allowed to take." He smirked devilishly. "You can pretend all you want, Oliver. Your body is being honest about how much it missed this. How much it missed this."
By then I was beyond pretending.
My voice was wrecked, cracking on every insult I managed between gasps and involuntary moans, thighs trembling wide and vulnerable.
The pleasure never built smoothly; each time I edged close to cumming my brains out... he eased off just enough to leave me gasping, furious, and aching, then started again with the same devastating precision.
It felt endless. He could have kept me like this for hours...stretched open, dripping, desperate, and the most frustrating part was how badly I wanted exactly that.
When I was finally visibly wrecked, flushed from chest to cheeks, teary eyes, panting openly, every muscle trembling...Damien pulled his fingers out slowly.
The sudden emptiness dragged a whimper from me that only earned another soft, smug sound of approval.
He wiped his hand carelessly on the sheets, then sat back against the headboard and maneuvered me until my sweaty back was flush against his chest like I was nothing more than a fingerfucked ragdoll, the solid heat of him surrounding me completely.
The shift left me exposed in a new way, thighs draped over his, the warmth behind me almost too much after everything that had come before.
He spread my thighs wider with his knees.
One arm wrapped firmly around my waist to keep me steady while the other reached down between us to guide himself.
I felt the blunt, thick head of his cock press against my stretched entrance, slick, hot, so much bigger than his fingers...and then he began to push in with the same devastating patience he’d shown all night.
The stretch was slower this time, thicker, filling me steadily.
I gasped, head falling back against his shoulder as he fully breached me.
Damien’s breath caught in my ear, a soft, rough sound of pleasure that shot straight through me and made my body clench tightly around him.
After two long days without him, this was my welcome back, open, shaking, stretched full around the thick heat of him, still trying (and failing) to convince myself I wasn’t desperate for every single inch.
I guess I didn’t even need to cook that dumb chicken Alfredo, he was going to have me instead.
Damien was solid behind me, my back pressed flush to his chest, one strong arm locked low around my waist like a living restraint.
My thighs trembled over his, still open from how carefully he’d worked me open earlier.
The heat radiating from him was almost too much; each heavenly roll of his hips pushed deeper until he settled fully inside with a pressure that left no room for anything but the slick slide of skin against skin.
"Look at how you’re taking it," he murmured against my neck, voice low and rough from the effort of staying still, his hand brushing over my belly bulge and pressing down on it making me cry out.
"Shit...! S–stop that...!"
His lips brushed the sensitive skin as he spoke ignoring me, free hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in so I felt every inch.
"Every single inch. Don’t need to rush it. Feel how deep I am already."
I tried to lift stubbornly, convinced I could still set the pace even as my body clenched around him.
His arm tightened and forced me back down in one smooth motion that stole my breath.
The wet, filthy sound of it echoed between us. The stretch was intense...thick, relentless, his head pressing firmly against my prostate as he bottomed out completely.
Lube, precum, and the way my body welcomed him filled the air like its own filthy soundtrack.
"Fuck you," I managed, the words coming out breathy, hips twitching despite the protest. "You’re not...not even that deep! Stop f–feeling so smug!"
Damien’s low, breathless laugh vibrated against my spine, pure smug heat. "Is that so?"
He rolled his hips upward slowly, adjusting the angle just enough for the head of him to drag over that sweet spot.
Electric sparks raced through me. I jolted, arching hard against his chest, head tipping back onto his shoulder as a broken little moan slipped free.