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“I’m ready,” I said into the pillow. “Slow, please. Please go slow.”
“Slow.” Her hand stroked down my spine. “Always. Tell me everything.”
A second finger, then a third, patient and slick, until I was loose and shaking and pushing back to meet her. Then the pressure of something broader, smooth and firm, nudging at me. “Breathe out. That’s the head. Let me in, Mark.”
I breathed out and it slid inside. A hot, heavy stretch, burning for a second, then easing, then spreading into a fullness I’d never known. I groaned, a long, dirty sound that I didn’t recognise as mine.
“There,” she whispered. “Good boy. Look at you taking it.”
She pushed in an inch at a time, one hand firm on my hip, until I felt her pelvis against my arse. She stayed there, perfectly still, while I panted and my cock throbbed against the duvet. Then she pulled back, slowly, and pushed in again, and the angle caught that spot inside me and every nerve I owned lit up.
“Oh God. Elena.”
“That’s it.” She found a rhythm, deep, steady strokes, and reached under me, wrapping her fingers round my cock without moving them. “Feel that? You’re so hard. So hot. You’d come in seconds if I stroked you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t come until I say.” She slapped my arse, a firm, bright sting, and drove deeper. “Do you understand?”
I understood. I was a heartbeat from ruin, and she knew it.