Our eyes lock, but he doesn’t smile, the moment too dark for flippancy as he pushes inside. Whit grates out a sound, though it might’ve easily been me, the shock of being so full of him is so sinfully delicious. He rolls his hips, then thrusts harder, pleasure radiating through me, my body clenching a greeting around him. “Oh Jesus,” he groans in a plea for mercy. “Do that again.”
