Page 27 of Cipher's Baby Girl
Only then does he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching into the nightstand for a condom. He tears the package open with his teeth before rolling the latex down his length.
Positioning himself between my thighs, he braces his weight on his forearms, his face hovering above mine. "Last chance to change your mind," he says, the strain of holding back evident in his voice.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I want this. I want you."
His eyes never leave mine as he begins to push inside, the pressure both uncomfortable and exhilarating. He moves with agonizing slowness, giving my body time to adjust to his size.
"So tight," he groans, muscles in his arms trembling with the effort of restraint. "Fuck, Rose, you feel incredible."
The burn of stretching to accommodate him is intense but not unbearable. I focus on his face, on the wonder and desire I see there, and the discomfort recedes slightly.
When he meets resistance—the physical proof of my innocence—he pauses, pressing his forehead to mine. "This will hurt," he warns. "Just for a moment."
I nod, bracing myself. "I trust you."
Something flashes in his eyes at my words. Before I can identify it, he captures my mouth in a deep kiss, distracting me with his tongue as he pushes forward in one swift thrust.
A sharp pain makes me gasp against his lips. He stills immediately, letting me adjust, his thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling.
"My brave girl," he murmurs, kissing my eyelids, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth. "My sweet, perfect girl. Taking me so well."
The praise soothes the sting, warmth spreading through me at his words. Gradually, the pain subsides, replaced by a feeling of fullness, of completion.
"Better?" he asks, watching my face intently.
I nod, shifting experimentally beneath him. The movement creates a pleasant friction that makes us both moan.
"Can I move now, Baby Girl? Need to make you feel good."
"Yes," I whisper, my hands sliding up his back to grip his shoulders.
He begins to move with shallow, careful thrusts, his eyes never leaving my face as he gauges my reactions. The initial discomfort gives way to pleasure as my body adjusts to his size, accepting him more easily with each gentle stroke.
"That's it," he encourages as I begin to move with him, meeting his thrusts. "Taking me so perfectly. Made for me, weren't you?"
"Yes," I agree breathlessly, lost in the sensations he's creating.
His pace increases slightly, his strokes deeper but still controlled. One hand slides between us, finding where we're joined, his thumb circling my clit in time with his thrusts.
"Want to feel you come around my cock," he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. "Can you do that for me, Baby Girl? Come one more time?"
The combined stimulation of his body moving inside mine and his thumb against my sensitive flesh builds another climax faster than I thought possible. Each thrust hits something deep inside that sends sparks shooting through my body, pleasure intensifying with every movement.
"That's it," he murmurs, watching my face as pleasure overtakes me. "Let go, Rose. Show me how good I make you feel."
His words push me over the edge. I cry out his name as ecstasy crashes through me, my body clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. The intensity of it steals my breath, my vision blurring at the edges as wave after wave of pleasure courses through me.
Cipher's control finally snaps. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside me, his powerful body shuddering as he finds his own release. The look on his face—a mixture of pleasure and wonder and something deeper, more profound—is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
For a moment, we remain locked together, both breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine. Then he carefully shifts his weight, rolling to the side while keeping me firmly against him.
In the aftermath, I feel both exhausted and strangely energized, my body humming with satisfaction. Cipher's arms encircle me, holding me close as if afraid I might disappear. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin—my shoulder, my arm, the curve of my hip—as if memorizing every inch.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice gruff with concern.
I nod against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. "More than okay."
His hand comes up to stroke my hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands with surprising gentleness. "Did I hurt you?"
