Page 51 of Breeding Justice

I leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time, letting the tension ease into something more manageable. Her hands traced the contours of my shoulders and chest, gentle and knowing. I slipped my fingers through her hair, savoring the softness of it.

She broke the kiss and looked at me, her eyes searching mine for something. Reassurance, maybe. Or perhaps she was trying to memorize this moment, to sear it into her memory like a brand. I stroked her cheek, thumbing the corner of her mouth with a tenderness that surprised even me.

"We take it slow," I said, not as a suggestion but as a condition. "If it becomes too much, we stop."

I lifted her gently, setting her beside me on the sofa, and stood up to remove my sweatpants. She watched me with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, her arms crossing over her chest more from tension than modesty. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then trailed my lips down to her nose, her cheek, her mouth—each touch deliberate and unhurried.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her pants and paused. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she breathed.

“God, you’re so hot. I can smell how we you are,” I said.

I slid her pants down slowly, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs. She lifted her hips to help, and I was acutely aware of every movement, every small sound she made. The fabric pooled at her ankles, and she kicked it aside.

I knelt on the sofa, positioning myself between her legs. Her hands went to my shoulders, then down my arms, tracing the lines of muscle as if she were memorizing them. I kissed her again, deeply, letting my hands explore her body with a reverence I didn't know I was capable of.

Her fingers found their way back to my hair, tugging lightly as she arched into me. I could feel the heat radiating from her core, could almost taste the need in her. My hand slid down her stomach, lingering for a moment before dipping between her legs. She gasped and bit her lip, grinding against my fingers.

I teased her slowly, circling and stroking her clit with deliberate tenderness.

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, each one a testament to the control she was exerting to keep from crying out. I watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her mouth formed a silent O. She was so fucking beautiful. I could have just done this for hours, looked at her for hours.

"Please," she whispered again, her voice breaking. "I can't wait."

I removed my hand, and she let out a small whimper of protest. I shifted, positioning myself at her entrance, feeling the slick heat of her. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer, and I braced myself on the back of the sofa.

"Slow," I reminded her, reminded myself. But it was torture, every second an eternity as I pushed just the tip of me inside her. She was so tight, so warm, and my body screamed at me to thrust deep and hard, to take what she was offering.

She dug her nails into my shoulders, her breath hissing through clenched teeth. "Don't stop," she commanded, though I could hear the strain in her voice.

I kissed her neck, her ear, trying to distract her from the pain as I eased in a little further. She was wet enough that I slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a new level of exquisite pressure. My muscles were taut as steel cables, my mind a maelstrom of lust and concern. I wanted to make this good for her, needed it to be something she could take comfort in, not another source of hurt.

Her body adjusted around me, and she moved her hips experimentally, testing the waters. A small, breathy moan escaped her lips, and it sent a jolt through me.

"Justice," I said again, but this time it was a plea, a prayer.

She looked up at me with half-lidded eyes, her pupils wide and dark. "I've got you," she said, as if she were the one reassuring me. "Just... don't hold back."

With that, she pulled me deeper, and I couldn't resist her. The slow burn turned into a consuming fire as I began to move, each stroke deliberate but gaining in intensity. Her hands roamed my back, sometimes caressing, sometimes clawing. The pain from her nails was a sweet counterpoint to the pleasure building inside me.

I watched her face closely, looking for any sign that it was too much. But instead of pain, I saw her surrendering to the waves of sensation. Her lips parted and she let out soft, unrestrained sounds of pleasure.

Each one was a spark, igniting me further. I thrust with increasing fervor, battling to maintain the slow pace I’d promised, but losing ground with every stroke.

Her body rose to meet mine, her movements more fluid, more urgent. She was pulling me into her rhythm, a dance we both knew too well. My hands gripped her hips, then slid up to cup her breasts, tracing circles around her nipples with my thumbs. She arched her back, pressing into me, and a deep groan rumbled from my chest.

"Harder," she demanded, and I hesitated, teetering on the edge of control. "Please," she added, almost desperately.

I gave in, driving into her with the force she craved. Her head tipped back, and she cried out, the sound echoing in the small living room. It was raw and primal, a release of all the tension she'd been holding. I couldn't believe how hot it made me to hear her like that, to know I was the one making her feel this.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I pounded her with abandon. The sofa creaked beneath us, its worn springs protesting our violence. Sweat slicked our bodies, mingling where we touched. Every thrust brought me closer to the precipice, but I held back,not wanting this to end too soon, not wanting to leave her behind.

Justice's fingers dug deeper into my flesh, her body moving with a desperate grace. "I'm close," she breathed, her voice trembling with the strain of withheld release. I shifted my angle slightly, driving her higher with each stroke, feeling her beginning to tense and coil around me like a spring about to snap.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I whispered in her ear. “I love your pussy.”

Justice shuddered beneath me, her body locking up as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her. She cried out my name, her voice breaking with the intensity of it. “Come inside me,” she pleaded between moans.

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