Drew slicked up his cock, stroking from the base to the tip, running his thumb over the rosy head, and then reached down, slipping a finger into me.
I had part of Drew inside my body. And I could feel it properly, the slight discomfort of calluses rubbing oversensitized flesh, the burn of skin stretching to accommodate him.
It didn't matter if it hurt. It didn't matter at all, because the way Drew gazed down at me, like he'd never seen anything in the world he wanted so much, made up for anything. His knot could split me in half, and I'd still beg him for more if he had that intense, focused light in his eyes when they rested on me.
One finger became two, pushing deep, curling up to touch—I let out a cry that echoed off the ceiling, arching up and shamelessly fucking myself on his hand.
