“Can I fuck you? Please?”
She nods and reaches down for him, but he’s not sure there’s time for it.
He’s hard in a way that’s painful and urgent, different from ever before, and
Olive’s flawless, soft, tight pussy is right there, ready for him, and when he begins to slide inside his existence narrows to bare details: the pressure around his cock, strained, world-defining; Olive’s eyes holding his own, shocked-wide; the air between them, warm, heavy.
“You’re so big,” she gasps.
He groans into her neck. Maybe he is big. Still. “You can take it.” Nothing, nothing exists, except for the pleasure tingling at the base of his spine.
“I can,” she agrees. Adam has to close his eyes, or it will be over right now.
He rocks inside her, and it’s torture. Delicious, drowning torture. “What if it’s too much?”
It seems like a distinct possibility. He can’t imagine thrusting into her the way he needs to, because she’s small, and he’s not. “Then I’ll fuck you like this.” It’s already getting better. She’s still sealed tight around him, but he’s making progress, getting a little farther, and the way she pulsates around him is splendidly, obscenely good. They’re both breathing fast, loud. She’s not positioned right for him to push deeper, that’s the problem. He lets his hand slide to her thigh and shifts it to open her more. Just a little more.
“Is there something I should be–”
“Shhh. Be quiet for a moment, so I don’t come already.”
She’s starting to move underneath him. Like she’s impatient for this to progress, even though he’s about to snap from the tension of keeping it slow.
He wants to sink his teeth into her. Tether her to him. Keep her in check. He withdraws a bit, which his body hates and seems pretty fucking stupid, but pushing back in is beyond anything.
“Maybe you should.”
He should what? Ah, yeah. They’re talking about him, coming. “I should?”
She nods, and he wants to kiss her, she wants to kiss him too, but they’re not quite able to do it, too distracted, too dazed, and he lets out a silent laugh, thinking about the two of them attempting this. Both of them barely knowing what they’re doing, and yet somehow making this spectacular, magnificent chaos. “Inside you?”
She nods, like whatever he’d ask of her, she’d give him. “If you want to.”
He does. He thinks of it a lot—base, filthy fantasies of making a mess on her, making a mess in her, leaving his mark. He has lots of those. A few more than he should. “You’re driving me insane,” he says into her clavicle, and that’s when something gives. A second of slick friction. Then he finds himself as deep as he can go, and everything stops.
The universe rearranges into something better.
They’re both still for a moment. Then they exhale sharp sounds in the silent room. Olive lifts a hand, just to run her fingers through his hair, and Adam is speechless. Mindless.
This is—Jesus. Oh, God.
She smiles at him, happy, hopeful, beautiful and says, “Hey.”
Adam smiles, too, and thinks, This is it. He thinks, I love you. He thinks, Maybe, one day, you’ll even let me tell you.
And he says, “Hey.”
Ali Hazelwood's Books
The Love Hypothesis
by Ali Hazelwood
Love on the Brain
by Ali Hazelwood
Loathe to Love You
by Ali Hazelwood
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