Page 117 of The Auction
He pushes just enough for the tip to breach me, and I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good for me, Cricket.” He kisses my cheek, the corner of my mouth, my throat—peppering me with warmth as his hips shift forward another inch.
The stretch is sharp, unfamiliar, but the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing in the world that matters—keeps me grounded.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against mine. “Tight, warm… made for me.”
Another slow push, and I can feel my body stretching around him, yielding bit by bit. My breath catches with every small movement, but the pain dulls under the constant stream of kisses and praises he gives me.
“Almost there, my sweet Cricket,” he says, voice tight with control. “Just a little more. Let me in.”
I exhale, my legs tightening around his waist, and he slides the last inch home until he’s fully seated inside me.
He doesn’t move right away, just stays there, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing ragged.
“You’ve got all of me now,” he says softly. “Every inch. You feel so fucking good.”
And in that moment, with him fully inside me and his lips brushing mine, I know—I’ll never forget this for the rest of my life.
He stays still inside me, kissing me slow, letting me breathe through the stretch. His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, down my neck, before coming back to press against mine again.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and deep.
I nod, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” He rests his forehead against mine, eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment I think he’s just gathering himself. Then…
“Grandma’s… abandoned kittens… toenail fungus…”
I blink at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to last longer than twenty-three seconds,” he says, dead serious. “It’s been a while, okay.”
I laugh—can’t help it—and he lets out a strangled breath, gripping my hip like he’s hanging on for dear life. “I’mserious, Cassidy. Just give me a second.”
He whispers under his breath, “Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come…”
That just makes me laugh harder, and he groans like I’m torturing him.
“Cricket,” he growls.
I bite my lip, trying to hold it in, and he kisses me—hard—before rocking his hips just enough to make me gasp. “You feel too fucking good, little Cricket.”
The slow roll turns into something deeper, heavier, and my breath stutters.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice dropping even lower. “Open for me. Take me. You’re mine now—aren’t you baby? No one else gets this pussy but me.”
“Yes.” I pant out.
“Tell me, beautiful.” He kisses my lips so tenderly. “I need to hear it.”
Heat floods my face, but I can’t stop the truth from spilling out. “I’ve always been yours.”
“Say it.” His thrusts get a little rougher, the bed creaking beneath us.
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “I belong to you.”
His eyes flash with something primal, and he fucks me harder, deeper, like my words broke something in him. “That’s right, Cricket. This virgin cunt is mine. You were made to take my cock. Say it again.”
