The world narrowed to the heat of his body pressing me into the cool sheets, his breath a hot whisper agat the nape of my neck. His hands, possessive and sure, mapped the curve of my hip before guiding me onto my stomach, a silent command that sent a shiver of anticipation through my core. I felt the hard length of him nestle agat my thigh, a promise of the pressure to come, as one hand splayed across the small of my back, holding me perfectly still. The first touch of him was a slow, deliberate breach, a stretching fullness that made me gasp into the pillow, my fingers clutching the fabric. He moved with a controlled rhythm, each thrust a deeper claiming, a friction that ignited a firestorm along every nerve ending. The sound of our joining was a slick, primal music, punctuated by my soft, ragged moans and his guttural groans of pleasure. I arched my back, meeting his pace, surrendering completely to the overwhelming sensation of being filled, of being utterly taken. The tension coiled tight within me, a spring about to snap under the relentless, perfect friction of his movements. It was a conquest of sensation, a blur of sweat-slicked skin and shared, breathless urgency that left me trembling and completely unraveled.
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