Page 43 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
He obliges, sliding deeper until I'm fuller than I've ever been. The sensation borders on overwhelming, but it's the best kind of overwhelming—the kind that makes me feel completely alive and present in my own skin.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his forehead pressed against mine. "So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me."
When he's fully seated inside me, we both go still for a moment, adjusting to the intimate connection. I can feel every thick inch of him, the way he fills me completely, the steady pulse of his heartbeat through our joined bodies.
"You okay?" he asks, searching my face for any sign of discomfort.
Instead of answering with words, I roll my hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from both of us. The friction is exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure racing along my nerve endings.
"More than okay," I manage to say, my voice already starting to fracture. "Move. Please."
He starts slow, pulling back until just the tip remains before sliding home again. Each thrust is measured, controlled, designed to build the pleasure gradually. But I can see the strain in his face, the way his jaw clenches as he holds himself back.
"You don't have to be careful with me," I tell him, my hands sliding down to grip his ass, encouraging him to go deeper, harder. "I won't break."
Something shifts in his expression then, a predatory gleam entering his eyes. His next thrust is deeper, more forceful, and I cry out at the sudden spike of pleasure.
"Like that?" he asks, his voice dropping to a rough growl. "Is that what you want?"
"Yes," I gasp, arching up to meet his movements. "Just like that."
He finds a rhythm that has me gasping and clinging to him, each powerful thrust driving me higher. The careful gentleman is gone, replaced by someone more primal, more possessive. He takes me like he's claiming me, marking me as his with every deep stroke.
"I've thought about this," he confesses between thrusts, his voice ragged with exertion and desire. "Thought about havingyou under me, thought about making you mine. Dreamed about the sounds you'd make."
His words are as intoxicating as his touch, sending heat racing through my veins. I love hearing how much he's wanted this, wanted me. It makes me feel powerful and desired in a way I haven't experienced in far too long.
The angle of his thrusts shifts slightly, and suddenly he's hitting a spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, tasting salt and the unique flavor that's entirely him.
"There," I manage to gasp against his skin. "Right there."
He adjusts his position to hit that spot with every thrust, and I can feel my orgasm building like a storm on the horizon. My body starts to tighten around him, drawing groans of appreciation from deep in his chest.
"That's it, sweetheart," he encourages, his pace becoming more urgent. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart."
His hand slips between our bodies to find the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex, circling with just the right amount of pressure. The dual stimulation is too much, pushing me right to the edge of release.
"Dae," I breathe, my entire body starting to tremble. "I'm going to?—"
"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with authority and desire. "Come on my cock like you were made for it."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless pressure of him filling me completely sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, stealing my breath and making me see stars. I bury my face in his shoulder to muffle my cries, my body clenching around him in waves.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his rhythm becoming erratic as my contractions pull him toward his own release. "So good. So fucking perfect."
I'm still riding the aftershocks when I feel him swell inside me, his thrusts becoming desperate and uncontrolled. With a muffled roar against my neck, he follows me over the edge, spilling himself deep inside me as his massive frame shudders with release.
For long moments afterward, we stay locked together, breathing hard and clinging to each other like we're afraid the other might disappear. His weight should probably be crushing, but instead it feels like the most natural thing in the world—this connection, this intimacy, this feeling of being exactly where I belong.
24
DAEGAN
The morning sun filters through the tiphe trees, casting dappled shadows across the orchard floor as I watch Taran take another wobbly step forward. His tiny hands grip my fingers with surprising strength for someone who's still so small, his amber eyes—so much like his father's—fixed with fierce determination on his mother's retreating figure.
"Come on, little sailor," I murmur, steadying him as he lurches forward on unsteady legs. "She's getting away from us."
Taran babbles something that might be an attempt at my name, though it comes out more like "Da-da-gah." Close enough. The sound hits me square in the chest every time, this ridiculous surge of pride and affection for a kid who is technically my nephew but feels like everything I never knew I wanted. I've spent a year raising him and nothing has ever felt better.
