Chapter 58 Made for me
Before I can process the words, he shifts, dropping between my knees. He reaches out and bends my legs back, pressing my knees toward my chest to expose every sensitive inch of me. The sheer boldness of it makes my heart bolt.
"Michael," I gasp, my voice a frantic, breathless plea. I instinctively try to straighten my legs, a reflex born of ages hiding in the shadows, but Michael’s grip is like iron. He holds them firmly in place, his thumbs stroking the tender skin of my inner thighs.
"Don't," he whispers, his eyes locking onto mine with a heat that could melt lead. I let out a broken sound and reach back, my fingers clawing into the cool cotton of the sheets as I surrender to the weight of his gaze. He leans in, the heat of his breath hitting my inner thigh first, making me shiver violently. Then, he buries his face between my legs, the scruff of his jaw grazing my inner thighs and making me shiver.
The first touch of his tongue is a revelation....wet, hot, and devastatingly precise. He uses his thumbs to pull me open, parting the soft skin of my entrance with a blunt, possessive force that leaves me feeling completely exposed. I watch, my breath hitching, as he leans in and licks a slow, broad stripe from the base of my heat all the way up to my entrance.
I moan, the sound breaking into a jagged sob as he finds the tight, sensitive ring of my entrance.
He doesn't hesitate. He thrusts his tongue deep inside me, while his thumbs continue to stretch me wide. The sensation is raw and unfiltered.... I can feel the rough texture of his tongue dragging out a slick, needy heat that I didn't know I was capable of.
He focuses his attention on the tiny, pulsing knot of nerves just above my entrance, his suction steady and demanding. Every time he laps at me, every time he swirls his tongue around that spot, a bolt of white-hot lightning shoots straight to my core. I’m gripping the sheets so hard the fabric is groaning, my hips bucking instinctively against his face as I try to take even more of him.
He growls against my skin, the vibration of his voice rattling my bones.
I can’t look away, I see the way his dark hair contrasts against my pale thighs and the sheer, blunt reality of it finally shatters the last of my inhibitions. I can hear the wet, slick sounds of his mouth against me, the sound of my own frantic whimpers filling the quiet room. It’s too much.... it’s everything.
I'm lost in the friction, the heat, and the incredible, overwhelming sensation of Michael devouring me as if I'm the only thing that could ever sustain him. My hips are no longer my own....they’re surging upward, seeking the source of the fire.
"God...please—" I choke out, my head thrashing against the covers.
He shifts, his large frame looming over mine once more as he positions himself between my still-trembling thighs. He reaches down, his fingers brushing against my entrance and I let out a long, shaky exhale.
"Condom... Lube...Where do you keep them?" his voice tight with the effort of holding back. I blink up at him, my brain still foggy. I glance around the room, at the overflowing bookshelves, the hanging ivy, the piles of papers....before looking back at him with a small, helpless shake of my head.
"I... I don't think there are any," I admit.
A sudden, sharp pang of worry pricks at me. I start to wonder if my non-existent sex life is going to be the thing that grinds this to a halt.
But Michael doesn't look disappointed. He just nods, reaching over the side of the bed to snag his pants from the floor. I watch as he digs into the pocket and pulls out his wallet. He flips it open and slides out two packets.
I watch him toss the wallet back onto the hardwood with a dull thud, my eyebrows hiking up. "Do you just... walk around everywhere with those?" I ask, a breathless, slightly impressed laugh bubbling in my throat.
He smirks as he grips the edge of the condom packet with his teeth and rips it open. His eyes never leave mine. He slides the latex over his length with a practiced, steady hand.
"I don't," he says, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register. He leans down, his chest hovering an inch from mine. "I put those in there before our date at the restaurant, Ryan. I'm an optimist."
The sheer confidence of it makes my stomach flip. He reaches for the lube packet next, his gaze dropping to where we'll be joined as he coats himself and me with a focus that makes me ache. Then, he hooks his hands under my knees, pushing them back toward my shoulders again.
He reaches down, guiding his thick, heavy length to my entrance, "I told you I was going to be thorough," his voice is low... Then he pushes in.
I let out a sharp, gasping breath as he fills me, the sensation of him stretching me open being almost too much to bear after the sensitivity. He’s a solid, unyielding weight that claims every inch I have to give. He stops for a beat, his forehead resting against mine as he waits for me to adjust.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking my cheeks.
"Don't stop," I whisper, my voice a bruised wreck.
He lets out a low groan and begins to move. He enters me slowly, a long, agonizing slide of friction that feels like he’s claiming every nerve ending I have left. I let out a sharp, high sound, my fingers curling into the mattress as my body stretches to accommodate him. He stops when he’s buried to the hilt, his muscles corded and jumping under his skin, his forehead dropping to mine as he tries to breathe through the sheer intensity of it.
"God, Ryan," he groans, the sound vibrating in my chest. "You feel like a fucking dream. You’re so tight... so warm. All flushed and open for me...."
He starts to move, a slow, punishingly deep rhythm that forces the air from my lungs. Every time he pulls back, he leaves me aching, and every time he thrusts forward, he hits a spot that makes my toes curl and my vision tilt.
"Look at how well you’re taking me. You were made for me." he says, his hand sliding down to wrap around my length. He starts to stroke me in perfect sync with his thrusts. I’m losing my senses, the world outside the four walls of this room ceasing to exist. I find myself saying things I’d never have the courage to whisper in the light of day.
He picks up the pace, his thrusts turning from slow and methodical to heavy and demanding. The bed frame knocks rhythmically against the wall. He watches me with a fierce, unwavering focus, his jaw set.
"You good?" he grunts, his voice thick with exertion as he begins to pound into me.
I can only nod frantically, my head thrashing against the pillow. I’m watching him....watching the way he’s owning me, the way his shoulders roll with every strike, the way he looks completely consumed by me.
Our eyes stay locked. The pleasure builds into a deafening roar, a pressure behind my navel that feels like it’s about to explode. Michael’s pace becomes feral, his breath coming in jagged, animalistic bursts.
"Fuck! I'm close," he curses, his voice a low, gravelly warning. I try to answer, try to tell him that I’m right there with him, but my voice fails me. I can only let out a broken, soaring cry as my release hits me, violent and all-consuming. I hold onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. My internal muscles clamp down on him in a desperate pulse.
Seeing me shatter is the final straw for his control. Michael's body locks as he thrusts one last time, deep and hard, spilling himself into the condom as he collapses against me.