Page 31 of My Ex-Military Biker

I'm going to come already, too fast, can't help it or stop it.

His mouth is back on my breast, sucking hard, biting. His fingers moving fast and rough inside me, thumb working my clit with relentless pressure.

"Come on my hand," he says against my skin. "Want to feel you squeeze my fingers."

Three more hard thrusts and I break completely.

Come hard, clenching around his fingers rhythmically, making sounds I've never made before. He works me through it without stopping, doesn't let up until I'm actually shaking beneath him.

He pulls his fingers out and brings them directly to his mouth, sucking them clean while looking straight at me with dark, hungry eyes.

"You taste good," he says, then moves up my body and kisses me deep. I taste myself on his tongue, unfamiliar and musky and not unpleasant. "Going to spend hours with my mouth on you later, make you come on my tongue until you can't remember your own name. But right now I need to be inside you."

Yes, that's exactly what I want too.

He positions himself between my legs, kneeling there, looking down at me spread beneath him completely open and vulnerable.

His eyes track over my entire body, lingering… My breasts, heavy and full. My soft stomach. My wide hips. My thick thighs spread open for him.

"Look at you," his voice is rough and strained. "Fucking perfect like this."

"I'm not..." I start to say.

"Don't." He cuts me off sharply, his hand wrapping around his cock to stroke once, slow and deliberate. "Don't tell me what you're not. You're perfect, soft everywhere, real. This..." He grips my thigh hard, fingers digging into the flesh. "This is what I want. All of you, exactly like this."

The words hit different than anything Tyler ever said. Not compliments designed to make me feel better about myself. Just raw want expressed directly without filter.

He leans down over me and lines himself up.

The head of his cock presses against my entrance and the pressure is immediate, intense, so much more than fingers could ever be.

"Breathe," he says.

I breathe in slowly, trying to relax every muscle.

He pushes forward and just the tip breaches me. The stretch is sharp and burns immediately. I gasp at the sensation.

He stops moving. "You okay?"

"Yes."

"The second you tense up I stop, understand?"

"Don't stop," I tell him.

He watches my face for another moment, then pushes in another inch. My body is actively resisting this intrusion, too tight, too much pressure all at once. I make a sound I can't control.

"Breathe through it," his voice is strained like holding still is physically costing him. "You can take it, your body can take it."

I breathe, concentrate on relaxing around him, around the feeling of being stretched wider than I thought was physically possible.

He pushes deeper, slow but relentless, not rough but absolutely not stopping either.

The burn shifts into actual pain, sharp and immediate. I gasp and tense automatically.

He stops immediately. "Natalie..."

"Don't stop, please don't stop," I beg.