Then he’d go lower.
He’d spread her thighs and kneel between them like a man starved. Use his mouth until she sobbed his name. Until she didn’t just want him—she needed him.
Only then would he f**k her.
Slow. Deep. All the way in.
Let her feel what it was like to be claimed. Owned.
Because if she was a virgin—and f**k, she was—he’d be the man to take that innocence. Carefully. Completely.
He’d teach her everything. How to take him. How to crave him. How to unravel for him and only him.
Until her body learned him.
Until she couldn’t come without the memory of his voice… the weight of his hands… the way he filled her.
Until she burned for it.
Burned for him.
He’d be the first.
The last.
The only.
And when she cried out for him, clung to him, whispered his name with that beautif
