Page 27 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, his brow furrowed, eyes glowing like wildfire in the shadows.
Concern mingled with hunger. He’s trying to hold back.
“No,” I gasp, legs wrapping around his hips of their own accord. “You feel so good. Please, I need you to move.”
His answering growl is feral, his restraint snapping like a taut thread.
“I’ve got you, Pretty Girl. Just hold on.”
He cages me in, braced on his forearms, and crashes his mouth down on mine—hungry, claiming, reverent.
Then, he begins to move.
Long, deep strokes that set my blood on fire.
Each thrust a promise.
Each kiss a surrender.
And I know, without a doubt, this night is going to change everything.
Every glide of his cock through my soaked, aching pussy feels like poetry written in the language of sin and shadows—each word a thrust, each line a breathless moan trapped in my throat.
He’s slow.
Deliberate.
Devastating.
He holds my hips like he owns them, like he’s branding me with every roll of his body against mine.
The stretch of him is exquisite—almost too much—and yet not nearly enough.
My spine arches as he pushes deeper, and a helpless cry spills from my lips, raw and needy.
“Fuck, Pretty Girl,” he groans, voice wrecked as he watches me fall apart beneath him. “You feel like heaven. Like you were made to take me.”
I am.
I was.
There’s no other explanation.
The weight of him on me, the heat of his skin, the scent of musk and male and mine surrounding us—it’s primal, a claiming in every sense of the word.
Maybe I’ve read too many books or watched too many movies, but this? This feels important. And it scares the shit out of me.
His mouth finds my neck, nipping and licking, his teeth dragging across sensitive flesh until I’m trembling, clawing at his back, begging for more.
For everything.
For him.
And he gives it to me.
All of it.
