I lean toward her again, slowly, deliberately, unhurriedly, giving her the chance to feel me approaching—like the rising tension before a storm, like the long-awaited breath before a dive. My lips meet her skin again, now unprotected. She burns, pulsates under my touch, as if her skin itself calls me closer.
I feel her breathing become increasingly ragged. Her chest rises and falls, and her fingers glide over my back, leaving faint streaks of warmth. I move down her body, then back up again, like waves crashing onto the shore and retreating, only to return with renewed force. I'm not just touching her—I'm studying her, like an artist studies every line of a beloved painting, like a poet reads the final lines of a poem that is nearly complete.
When my palms slide over her hips, I feel them tense, as if ready to leap, to give themselves over. She can no longer lie still—her body calls, searches, reaches for me. And I respond. Smoothly, gently, yet with a growing fire, as if everything I've been holding inside—all this restraint, uncertainty, desire—is now spilling outward, taking shape, becoming action, touch, a kiss.
Her legs wrap tighter around my hips, pulling me closer, while her lips whisper soft, nearly silent words. Not prayers, not pleas—promises. Fusion. I feel the air between us vanish. It grows hot, tight, as if the whole world has shrunk to this mattress, these sheets, this moment.
"You drive me crazy," she whispers, biting her lip. Her voice trembles—not with fear, but with impatience, with the storm building inside her.
"I want you to remember this," I say, looking into her eyes. "Not just the night. I want you to remember how much I need you."
Katrin twitches slightly at each kiss, as if her skin responds with shivers, like a string pulled taut. These tiny, almost imperceptible movements are like music to me—sensual, tender, penetrating the very soul. I catch every gesture, every shadow of emotion on her face, absorbing this state—the fine line between anticipation and wild, impatient desire.
When I reach the edge of her thin lace panties, my fingers touch the fabric almost weightlessly, and I see her breath falter. She looks at me, holding it, as if afraid to shatter this moment, so fragile and full of electricity. I slowly remove this last barrier, doing so with the care of unwrapping the most precious gift. My lips continue their journey—upward, over her stomach, feeling the gentle movement of her breath beneath the skin, the barely perceptible tremor of her muscles. Her body is a work of art—graceful, warm, alive, responsive to every touch, every caress.
I reach her chest, slowly, teasingly, deliberately prolonging the pleasure. With my fingers, I slide the straps from her shoulders, letting them fall away like the rustle of leaves in a gentle wind. But I leave the bra itself—this small provocation, this anticipation only heightens the intensity. I feel her body tense and relax, as if she balances on the edge, ready to plunge into the abyss of pleasure, yet held back by my unhurried pace.
When I spread her legs and position myself between them, she places her feet on my hips without a hint of embarrassment, as if pulling me deeper into herself, dragging me into this whirlpool of passion. In her eyes, large, wet, and clouded, burns impatience, pulsing desire, almost aggressive in its force. It strikes the heart, the temples, reverberating as a shiver through the body.
"Shh… Don't rush," I whisper, looking into her eyes, lost in that gaze, full of wild, nearly untamed energy. "I want to savor you."
Rebel Girl smiles, but in that smile is a mix of desire, a slight challenge, and tenderness, so real, so alive, that it takes my breath away.
"You're so hard to deal with when you're a virgin…" she shakes her head, as if laughing at me, yet with a spark of admiration in her voice.
"And who said it would be easy with me?" I whisper back, leaning closer, feeling the space between us vanish as if it had never existed.
I carefully slide the cup of her bra aside, exposing her breast, and touch my tongue to her nipple. The moment I do, she arches as if an electric current surges through her. A hoarse, damp gasp escapes her—a sound full of desire and rapture. She grabs my hair sharply, hungrily, refusing to let me pull away even a millimeter. I feel her fingers dig into my scalp as if she fears losing this moment.
Her body responds to every flick of my tongue, every kiss, every caress—tensing, then relaxing, pulsing beneath me like a living, burning force. Her legs press me tighter against her, as if she wants to dissolve the boundaries between us, to merge us into one.
I continue my ministrations, moving to her collarbone, kissing her skin—warm, scented with her body and something floral, slightly salty. I nip at her delicate flesh, leaving faint marks like memories, like signatures. My palms slide down her back—smooth and warm—and press gently, making her arch toward me, opening herself. She understands without words: wrapping her arms around my neck, she lifts herself, her skin pressing against mine, scorching and real. I easily unhook her bra.
When it slips onto the sheets, I pull back for a second. There she lies—completely bare, not just in body but in trust. This moment stretches into eternity, as if time has stopped to let me absorb it all: the curve of her waist, the light gliding over her skin, her gaze—open, inviting, achingly familiar.
"I'm going to lose my mind over how beautiful you are," I whisper, unable to look away, trembling with the intensity of it.
Katrin smiles—the way only she can: bold, bright, a little mischievous, with that unique warmth that makes my heart race every time.
"Don't lose it… until you finish what you started," her voice is husky, intoxicating like aged wine. "Or I'll bite you again."
"I'd love that, baby… go ahead," I rasp, leaning into her, feeling everything inside me ignite, desire dissolving all hesitation until there is only us, this night, and the endless, tender madness we create together.
Rebel Girl pulls me to her with such tender determination, as if she wants to melt away all my doubts, every drop of fear. Her hands are warm, possessive, holding me on the edge of something vast and new. This isn't just an embrace—she absorbs me, welcomes me, claims me.
Her lips brush my shoulder—a featherlight touch, like the first whisper of spring wind. Then, suddenly, a gentle, almost imperceptible bite. Not harsh, not aggressive, but intimate, a secret between us. Immediately followed by a kiss to the same spot—warm, soothing, enveloping. It feels like a ritual: her tongue, her breath, her fingers tracing my back… all weaving into a deep, silent vow. It doesn't hurt. It is unbearably close. Almost sacred.
"I could never hurt you… just like you'd never hurt me," she whispers into my ear, her words wrapping around me, her breath against my lobe sending a shiver of want through me.
I close my eyes for a second, burying my face in her hair—it smells of shampoo, skin, and something uniquely her. Then I kiss the hollow of her neck—that tiny dip I know is her weak spot. She tilts her head back, a shudder rippling through her.
"My love…" I murmur against her skin. The words come out like a prayer, a spell to halt time itself.
Katrin meets my gaze—her eyes hold everything. Fire. Tenderness. Hope. And, in a way, vulnerability.
"Let's begin… I can't wait anymore," her voice is raw, frayed by need, each word torn from deep within.
I nod, lifting her legs from my hips and rising from the bed. Everything moves as if through a haze, a slow, watercolored dream. I open the nightstand drawer—and there it is, what she has already thought of. Care, expressed in details. She has prepared. For me. It is so simple, so unbearably touching, that I can't help but smile.
I take the condom and tear open the package. My fingers tremble slightly, but I stay focused. The lubricant lies nearby, and in this gesture—in all this thoughtfulness—there is love, subtle and gentle, not shouting, but deep. I feel the tension ease a little, turning into a light excitement—the kind you feel before leaping into the unknown.
Turning, I see her. Katrin lies propped on the pillows, naked, like a living painting. Her eyes look straight at me—wide, clear, full of desire and tender curiosity. Her chest rises and falls frequently, and each breath seems to resonate within me.
"You need help?" she asks quietly, her voice like the rustle of sheets under a body.
"It's okay. I'll manage, my dear," I reply, surprised at how calmly it sounds. And at the same time—with such tenderness that even I am surprised.
I lean over her, feeling a wave of warmth, almost electric, building between our bodies. My heart pounds loudly, as if marking the rhythm of a symphony beginning. And then, the moment of truth.
I enter her slowly, gently, with reverence and awe. As if awakening her from within. Her eyes close, her brows twitch slightly, and a long moan escapes her throat. She wraps me with her arms and legs, drawing me into her not only with her body but with her soul. We become one. Movement, breath, pulse—all merge into a single whole.
At first, I move cautiously—exploring, feeling, listening to her body, her sounds, the very fabric of this intimacy. But with each of her kisses, each "more," each arch of her back, I feel myself growing more confident. Fear fades, leaving only heat, only the honesty of our bodies.
I lift one of her legs and drape it over my shoulder. Penetration becomes deeper, bolder. She throws back her head, gasping—not from pain, but from the intensity of feeling. I feel her trembling beneath me, her nails scratching my back, how, clinging to me, she repeats my name again and again—and each time it sounds different: sometimes pleading, sometimes ecstatic, sometimes almost desperate.
And suddenly, on the edge of this ecstasy, inside my head—a flash. Like a spark in the dark. Strange images, moments, faces… something foreign. Or forgotten. Not my memories. Not my feelings. Yet they surge with such force, as if trying to say something. My head tightens, like in a vise, and for a moment everything around dulls.
I blink, push it away, return—to her. To our moment. To the present. I continue moving, deeper, faster, hotter. Losing the line between body and spirit. It feels like flying, with no ground beneath my feet. The moans, the breath, her eyes, my hands—it is all a whirlwind. And then—a flash. An internal explosion shakes everything.
Orgasm comes like a storm—suddenly, powerfully, deeply, with a shout, with light inside. We reach it almost simultaneously—I feel her clench beneath me, her body arching, her sobs, biting her lip, trembling. And I… I surrender to it completely.
I collapse beside her, exhausted. Face in the pillow, breath heavy and uneven. My whole body shakes with heat, fatigue, and tremors. But it is the kind of fatigue you want to carry with you. The kind after which you know—you are alive.
And then—silence. But it isn't emptiness. It is warmth. Calm. And the feeling that a new chapter has begun.
Katrin presses silently against me, her fingers gliding through my hair, across my face, along my neck. Her touch is soft, as if rocking a child.
"You did well," she whispers, kissing my temple. "You did it… my good boy."
Those words spread through my body like warmth through the veins. They make me want to cry and laugh at the same time.
I look at her, smile faintly… and close my eyes. Sleep covers me like a blanket, and beside me breathes she—my Rebel, my first and only.