Slowly. One piercing at a time, just like the first time, watching my face change with every barbell that entered me. Even oversensitive and thoroughly worked over I felt each one distinctly — the metal dragging against swollen, sensitive flesh — and by the time the fifth pushed home I was already making sounds again that I had no control over.
He held himself deep and still for a moment, his dark eyes on mine.
"Okay?" he asked, and the genuine question underneath the roughness of his voice undid me slightly.
"More than okay," I whispered.
He began to move.
From this position he was impossibly deep, the angle so completely changed that the piercings hit somewhere new and devastating with every stroke — somewhere that made my legs shake against his shoulders and my hands fly up and gri
