of himself already hard and long and thick, as if his body had decided that the rest of him was slender enough and it would make up for it here. He pressed against the front of his own body, thick and long, and everything you could want in that moment.
He leaned over me, his knees still pinning my legs, so that he would have to move to use all that thick, quivering eagerness. He leaned over me, and his hair didn't fall forward, it moved to either side of us so that we were sheltered in the glow and movement of it. His hair made a sound like wind in leaves around us.
He pinned my wrists against the floor, and I was completely pinned, but he could not reach me. So I was trapped, but to no purpose that I could see.
He leaned his face over mine, and whispered, "Don't frown, Meredith. That's not the look I want on your face right now."
My voice was breathy, but I managed to ask, "What look do you want on my face?"
He kissed me. He kissed me as if he was eating me from the mouth down, all teeth and biting, and then when I was about to cry enough, he changed to a long, deep kiss, as tender and full of care as any I had ever had.
He raised his face just enough so I could see his eyes. They weren't spirals anymore, but just a glowing green as if he would be blind from the light. "That look," he said. "You said in the shower that you'd had all the foreplay you needed, so I won't bother tonight, but I want you to know that I am not like your Mistral. There are nights when gentle is good, too."
"But not tonight," I whispered.
He smiled. "No, not tonight, because I've seen you make a thousand decisions every day, Princess. Always in charge of something, always a choice to be made, always something to affect so many people. I've felt you needing to have a place where the decisions are made for you, and choice is not yours, some place where you can let go and stop being the princess."
"And be what?" I whispered.
"Just this," he said. He pinned my wrists with one hand and used the other to push his pants down to the middle of his thighs. Then he moved his knees from on top of my legs to use them to slide my thighs wider, so that he could begin to push against my opening.
He was almost too long for the angle he was using, so he had to use his free hand to move himself until he could slip the tip of himself inside. He was wide enough that even with my earlier sex, he had to push himself inside me, working his way in with his hips.
I raised my head enough that I could watch his body push its way into mine. There is always something about that first time that a man enters me that makes me want to watch, and just the sight of him so thick, so big ... made me cry out, wordlessly.
He had almost his full weight on my wrists where he had pinned them. It hurt, but in that good way, in that way that let me know that the moment of decision was truly past. I could have said no, protested, but if he didn't want to let me go, I could not make him, and there was something about that moment of surrender that was exactly what I needed.
I cried out twice more before he worked his way as far inside as he was going. We ran into the end of my body before we ran out of the end of him. Then he began to pull himself back out, and then the push in, and finally I was wet enough, and he was ready enough. He began to push himself in and out in long, slow strokes. I'd expected the sex to be rough to go with the way he'd started, but once he was inside me, it was like the second kiss he'd given me, deep, tender, amazing.
He worked that slow, steady stroking until it spilled me over the edge and made me scream his name. My hands strained under his, and if I could have reached him I'd have painted his body with my nails, but he held me easily, keeping himself safe while he rode me