MILLIE
In an instant, he was over me, a commanding presence that left me breathless. His touch, his tip, tantalizingly poised at my entrance, sent my muscles into a frenzy of tension. Fingernails dug into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut; it was all happening too fast, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Seeking solace, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, seeking refuge in his familiar scent.
A stillness settled between us, his arousal teasing but not advancing. His voice, low and coaxing, pierced the silence. “Millie, look at me.” And I did, meeting his gaze that held both hunger and an unexpected tenderness. I clung to that gentleness, willing my nerves to subside. Time stretched, our connection unspoken yet profound. With deliberate care, he lowered himself, our bodies melding together, his whispered confession a balm for my apprehension. “I’m an asshole,” he rasped, his lips finding solace against my skin. His apology hung in the air, a raw admission of his own vulnerability.
Confusion tangled with my fear, my small voice almost lost in the tumultuous emotions. He was my husband, after all, and yet the intensity of the moment rendered me voiceless. “Why?” My words trembled, the vulnerability of the question laid bare.
And then, his arousal pressed against my entrance again, a sensation that sparked a gasp from me. His restraint wavered, eyes clenching shut before reopening, now containing the hunger that had momentarily consumed him. Inch by inch, he descended, his head dipping to my breasts, his abs brushing against my core. Each movement drew out a sensation that was as torturous as it was exquisite, his own tension palpable.
“You are my wife,” his proclamation held both determination and reassurance, as if he were grounding himself in the reality of our connection. His touch on my nipples ignited a fiery response, a moan escaping as I arched into him, seeking more of his touch. His request, almost pleading, sliced through the haze of pleasure. “Stop squirming.” I complied, albeit with great effort, as his fingers continued their ministrations, his control a testament to his mastery over my desires.
He navigated my body with a finesse that only fueled my longing, his lips, fingers, and tongue forging a symphony of sensation. My body was a canvas, his touches painting trails of fire and yearning. With each skillful movement, he orchestrated a crescendo that left me straining for release.
His touch was electric as his fingers danced across my thighs, their caress causing me to tremble and part involuntarily. Slowly, deliberately, his hands traversed lower, setting my skin ablaze with every movement. A tender kiss graced the mound of my desire, followed by his lips tracing a path along my inner thigh before a gentle bite sent shockwaves through me. I couldn’t help but gasp, my hips responding with a helpless sway.
With an unexpected surge of strength, he slipped his hand beneath me, lifting my form slightly. His lips descended once more, claiming my folds in a tantalizing kiss that drew a whimper from deep within me. The softness of his touch played with my senses, his lips a delicate dance against my most sensitive places. He pulled back, his intense gaze meeting mine as I blinked open in a daze. I found myself captivated by his presence, my heart racing in anticipation.
His focus remained unbroken as his lips ventured lower, leaving a trail of wetness in their wake. Every nerve in my body seemed to buzz as his intentions became clear. With a gentle urging, my lips were parted further, allowing his exploration to continue unhindered. His tongue made contact with my wetness, a shudder coursing through me at the exquisite contact.
Time seemed to stretch as he devoted himself to a meticulous exploration, teasing and tasting without directly touching where I yearned for him most. It was an agonizing pleasure, a symphony of sensations that left me teetering on the edge of sanity. The plea in my voice was unavoidable as I arched my hips, a silent supplication for more.
He responded with a maddening nudge of his tongue against my most sensitive point, and my restraint shattered. A cry escaped my lips, desire spiraling out of control. In a voice thick with need, I confessed my yearning, and his answer was a deep growl that promised fulfillment in due time.
A single finger became a bridge between restraint and indulgence, its deliberate rhythm setting my senses aflame. His tongue traced patterns of fire, finally encircling my throbbing clit. The tension that had gripped me began to dissipate with each teasing stroke, replaced by a rising tide of pleasure that threatened to pull me under.
“Tell me when,” his voice, a seductive murmur against my flesh, demanded my submission to ecstasy. His pace quickened, the pressure building as his finger delved deeper, his tongue an instrument of reckless abandon.
Barely coherent, I was only able to utter a fragmented affirmation before his touch changed. A new sensation joined the mix, a second finger entering me. The intrusion was met with a mixture of discomfort and searing pleasure, my body accommodating his intrusion in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The lines between pain and pleasure blurred, a symphony of sensations that overwhelmed my senses.
He continued his dual assault, driving me toward a precipice. My body responded with a surge of release, every muscle contracting as I rode the waves of pleasure mingled with the echoes of pain. He reveled in my response, his fingers and tongue refusing to relent.
As the throes of my climax began to recede, his gaze locked onto mine, holding me in a hypnotic trance. His voice, a husky whisper, praised the tightness that clenched around his fingers. A mix of emotions swirled within me vulnerability, desire, and a raw need for connection.
Time seemed to stand still as we shared a moment of unspoken understanding. And then, a shift in his demeanor a newfound determination. He positioned himself above me, guiding my legs and hips, seeking the perfect angle. Anticipation clawed at me as his tip brushed against my entrance, a mixture of longing and trepidation freezing me in place.
But my body had other plans, responding with involuntary tension that threatened to derail the moment. Frustration bubbled up, tears of both physical and emotional strain threatening to spill. Why was this so difficult, when every fiber of my being ached for union?
His kiss, gentle yet commanding, brushed against my lips, his words a soothing balm against my anxieties. His touch traversed my form, urging relaxation, and he inched forward once again. The pressure intensified, a painful reminder of my body’s resistance. Gio’s restraint was palpable, his breaths mingling with mine as he fought his own battle within.
With a final, deliberate effort, he pushed forward, breaching the barrier that had held me captive. The searing pain was undeniable, causing me to clench my eyes shut and hold my breath. His fingers, warm and reassuring, cupped my face as his lips found mine, offering a lifeline amidst the turmoil.
His hand traveled down, finding solace between my thighs. His fingers, so tender and skilled, brushed against my folds, coaxing pleasure to intertwine with the residual pain. A sense of surrender enveloped me, the two sensations becoming a harmonious symphony that rocked my core.
In a culmination of movements, he surged forward, fully enveloping me in a sensation that bordered on overwhelming. I gasped, my back arching involuntarily, caught between the pleasure of his touch and the lingering echoes of discomfort. My face found refuge against his throat, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the shared intensity.
As my body adjusted to this new reality, I counted in my mind, desperately seeking a distraction. The promises of others echoed in my thoughts, assuring me that the pain would recede. But in the midst of it all, the question remained when?