was looking after my needs.
I could taste myself on him. That shouldn’t be exciting. And yet…it kind of was. I scooted forward. We lay on our sides, facing each other. I reached out and found what I was looking for. I’d heard men call it many things, mostly when they didn’t know I was listening. The dirtiest had always seemed to be cock. In this moment, that’s how I thought of it.
I stroked Torrin’s cock. It was warm, thick, hard. I swallowed. Would that eventually fit inside me? It seemed highly unlikely.
He jerked as I stroked the length of him. “Bianca.”
The unflappable Torrin, who led men into battle, was moved by this. “I think you like this, Torrin.”
“You are why men speak poetry.” His voice was low. “I was going to be patient and unhurried. It’s not my nature. Yes, touch me, Bianca. Touch me until I tell you to stop, because the truth is that when I lose myself tonight, I want it to be inside your hot pussy.”
I widened my eyes. Not that he could see it. Between my thinking cock and his saying pussy, we were being downright dirty tonight. I grinned. It was kind of fantastic.
“Tell me how you like it. Like this?” I continued to stroke him as I had been.
He grunted before he responded. “Harder.”
I tightened my grip. I didn’t want to break it or hurt him. But also, he was kind of the most solid thing in the universe. Unbreakable. Dependable. I had never felt this safe or wanted, and with every stroke, I told him so. Thanked him for it. And felt his passion grow. I could feel it in the tension threading through his body, tightening all his muscles, in the way his breathing became more rapid. I leaned toward him and kissed him, even as I stroked his cock.
“I’m not sure harder is possible,” I murmured against his mouth. “Feels plenty hard already.”
“This is what you do to men, to me,” he said.
I could tell him what he did to me. Oh, I could tell him lots. But mostly this… “Torrin, I want you inside me.”
His breath caught, and he stilled. There was so much latent energy in the room, so much delicious restraint, that I felt like I was swimming languorously through it. I brushed a thumb over the tip, and he flinched into my hand, slick and hot.
“Do it.”
I released my clasp and pushed him slightly, and he rolled to his back. Desire thrummed through my body. Not only did I want him—want to fuck him—but I wanted it rough and dirty and delicious and wild, and at the same time, I was terrified of all my many wants. And he was so in control of himself. Would he think less of me if I just lost it? But could I stand to not lose it? I mean, really. Bianca, you’re overthinking, I told myself. He just said to do it.
So I did.
I mounted him, pressed the tip of him against my opening, and guided that gorgeous, enormous cock exactly where I wanted it.
It didn’t fit. He was too big, and I was clearly not doing this right, but he didn’t chide or criticize or correct. He didn’t move at all. Just like he’d promised, he let me set the pace, let me ease myself onto him, impale myself with the length of him. There wasn’t a lot of resistance. Should there have been? But it was like my body knew how this dance went, and it was primed and ready, opening like an iris when it let in light. I took him all the way in, tip to root, and then paused. Waited.
He felt perfect here, like this, in me.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Um, better than okay. Possibly better than perfect.”
The warmth of his hands bracketed my hips, then moved downward. Big hands, warm. There was kindness in his voice when he said, “It absolutely is. You are.”
Between the gentleness of his words and the heat of his body, I felt like a star, too bright for my own eyes. Too happy. I’d never been this happy.
“Bianca?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“You can move. Or not. If you have ideas you want to try out, things that you think would feel good, feel free. I have loved everything you’ve done so far. I trust you.”
He trusted me with his pleasure, and with my own? I was still hot with desire, but a different warmth suffused me right then. A softer, more painful,