Chapter 2454 - MS 3

She was still impossibly tight, her freshly broken-in pussy fluttering around me like it couldn't decide whether to fight or beg for more.

I bottomed out and just held there, letting her feel every throbbing inch.

"Fuck, Brittany," I rasped against her mouth. "You're gonna make me come again already."

She moaned, hips rolling slow on instinct, grinding her clit against me.

"Do it," she whispered, voice wrecked and needy. "Come inside me again... I want to feel it while Mom's still in there..."

That did it.

I gripped her ass hard, thrust up once, twice, and lost it.

Rope after thick rope shot deep inside her, filling her up while her tight walls milked me dry. She cried out, pussy clamping down, another orgasm ripping through her just from feeling me unload. Her whole body shook, nails digging into my shoulders, legs locked around my waist like she never wanted me to leave.

I kept coming, longer than I thought possible, her eighteen-year-old body wringing every drop out of me.

When it finally stopped, we were both panting, sweaty, stuck together.

I kissed her slow, tasting the salt on her lips.

"Get on top," I growled, voice rough. "I'm not done with you."

She nodded fast, eyes glazed, and I rolled us so she was straddling me, my cock never leaving her dripping pussy.

She settled slow, taking me to the root again, a soft little cry slipping out when I bottomed out.

Then she started moving.

Slow, clumsy at first (she'd literally lost her virginity twenty minutes ago), but fuck, the way her tight pussy gripped me made up for every missed beat. She found a rhythm, grinding down in little circles, then lifting up and dropping back, tits bouncing, hair wild, lips parted in constant little moans.

"Like this?" she whimpered, looking down at me with those big innocent eyes even while she fucked herself on my cock.

"Exactly like that," I groaned, hands on her hips, guiding her harder. "Ride me, baby. Use that tight little pussy."

She leaned forward, tits in my face, and I sucked a nipple hard while she bounced faster, cream running down my shaft, dripping off my balls.

Every time she slammed down she let out this filthy, broken "ahhh," like she couldn't believe how deep I was.

I slapped her ass, watched it jiggle, then gripped her cheeks and spread her wide so I could feel myself sliding in and out.

"You're creaming all over me," I growled. "Look at you, fucking like you've been doing this for years."

"I feel so full," she sobbed, grinding harder, clit rubbing against me. "I'm gonna come again—"

"Do it," I ordered, thrusting up to meet her. "Come all over the cock that just took your virginity."

She shattered, screaming my name, pussy gushing, squirting down my stomach while she kept riding, hips jerking, tits bouncing wild.

I didn't let her stop.

Grabbed her waist and fucked up into her hard, fast, relentless, until she was sobbing from overstimulation, coming again and again, body shaking, pussy leaking everywhere.

Only when she collapsed forward, face buried in my neck, did I slow down, holding her tight, cock still throbbing inside her.

We lay there tangled, skin sticky, chests still heaving from the last round. Brittany was sprawled on top of me, my cock still buried deep inside her dripping pussy, pulsing every few seconds like it refused to go soft. Her perfect young tits pressed against my chest, nipples hard, little whimpers slipping out every time her hips gave a lazy roll.

Man, her body was built for this. Tight waist, fat ass, heavy tits, all wrapped around my dick like she was made to take it.

Tiffany was still in the bathroom doing whatever the fuck, and here I was, balls-deep in her daughter, savoring every clench, every drop of cream leaking down my shaft.

I didn't need rest. My cock was in heaven, swimming in eighteen-year-old pussy while her mom showered off my cum ten feet away.

We stayed just like that, her grinding slow, lazy circles even after we both came, juices dripping everywhere, soaking my balls, the sheets, everything. Wet, filthy, perfect.

Then the bathroom door opened.

Tiffany stepped out, towel loosely wrapped, hair damp, eyes flicking straight to where Brittany was still riding me slow.

She smirked, but there was heat in it, jealousy and arousal mixed.

"You two really couldn't wait five minutes for me, huh?" she said, voice low and amused.

Brittany giggled, trying to sound cute, but her pussy clenched hard around me when she did it, giving me away.

"Sorry, Mom," she breathed, hips still rolling, "he just... feels so good..."

Tiffany dropped the towel, climbed onto the bed naked, and lay beside us, one hand sliding up Brittany's back.

We were all exhausted, sweaty, wrecked. Brittany stayed on top of me, my cock never leaving her, Tiffany curled into my side, leg thrown over both of us.

Then Brittany lifted her head, looked at her mom with those big innocent eyes, voice soft but serious.

"Mom... am I gonna get pregnant?"

Tiffany smiled slow, cupped her daughter's cheek.

"Only if you want to, baby," she whispered, thumb brushing Brittany's lip.

Brittany bit her lip, looked down at me, then back at her mom, and grinned shy little.

I didn't say shit. I knew Tiffany had Plan B stashed somewhere. Didn't matter. The thought of breeding both mother and daughter, filling them up over and over until it took... fuck, that alone kept me rock-hard inside Brittany.

We shifted a few more times after that, slow, filthy, lazy rounds.

Finally, somewhere past 4 a.m., we collapsed in a sweaty, cum-soaked pile.

Brittany curled into one side, hand resting on my chest.

Tiffany on the other, leg thrown over mine, pussy still leaking against my thigh.

I passed out cold, didn't even feel it happen.

Morning light hit my face.

I woke up between mother and daughter.

-x-X-x-

Tiffany on my left, blonde hair messy, lips parted, heavy tits pressed against my arm, one leg thrown over mine. Brittany on my right, the younger, tighter version of her mom, face peaceful, hand already wrapped around my morning wood like it belonged there now.

They looked so fucking cute, so filthy, so completely mine.

I wanted to wake them up with my cock again, fill them both before breakfast, watch them fight over who got the first load.

But then it hit me.

Neil.

That fucker had been threatening to get our names kicked off the group project for days. If I didn't show up soon, he'd do it. No project, no grade, no passing the semester. Michael had already warned me yesterday.

Shit.

I eased out from between them slow, both of them stirring, making little sleepy sounds, but not waking. Grabbed my clothes off the floor, pulled on my sweats commando, cock still half-hard and sticky with last night.

One last look at mother and daughter tangled together, naked, marked, full of me.

Fuck... less than 24 hours since I moved into this building and I'd already wrecked Judy, Lily, Tiffany, and now turned Tiffany's eighteen-year-old daughter into my personal cumslut right in front of her.

Four holes claimed, two of them mother and daughter in the same bed.

This place wasn't an apartment complex.

It was fucking heaven.

I slipped out quiet, shut the door soft behind me.

Went back to my apartment. Shower was still busted, but I managed to wash up at the sink, threw on fresh clothes, and headed out.

Took the subway to college.

Every milf I walked past — on the platform, in the train, outside the station — kept turning me on like I hadn't just spent the night living every man's dream.

At college, Michael spotted me instantly.

"DUDE—what the hell. You ignored my calls all night. What happened?"

"I was busy, bro," I said.

"But busy with WHAT? I thought you were dead or something."

"Someone came over."

"Who? One of your building milfs? I swear I'm jealous of your life, man."

"Judy came over. To scold me for 'bullying' her son."

Michael blinked. "Judy... wait—NEIL'S MOM JUDY? The one from parent's day? Tight-ass secretary dress Judy? The one I fapped to for a week straight?"

"Yeah. That Judy. And I did more than just fap."

Michael's jaw hit the floor. "Bro WHAT—didn't she come to SCOLD you?"

"She did. But you know me. I don't take scolding that easily. She ended up being the one who got... corrected."

Michael looked like he needed medical attention. "BRO. WHAT DID YOU DO?! Tell me EVERYTHING."

"Some shit is better left unsaid," I smirked. "But she's bad, man. Real bad."

He dragged his hands down his face. Even just the thought of Judy — that tight, strict milf — had him dying.

Still, he's my boy, so I told him some of it. Enough for him to survive the day... and probably not survive the night.

"Damn bro," Michael muttered. "You're collecting milfs like Pokémon."

"We got class, man," I said. "Let's move."

We headed to Mrs. Claire's class.

Every dude in college had fapped to her at least once. Tight skirt, thick body, perfect attitude. Even walking was a problem around her.

We sat at the back, not giving a damn about her lecture. She was looking sexy as usual.

I glanced over at Neil.

That MF had his hand under the desk again.

Then he looked back at me — realized I saw him — and his hand flew up instantly.

I almost laughed.

"That MF is still fapping to her," I whispered.

Michael nearly cracked up.

---

The bell rang.

Mrs. Claire tapped the board with her marker.

"Alex. Michael. Neil. Stay back."

Instant vibe shift.

Everyone else rushed out, and we stayed—three idiots lined up in front of the hottest teacher in the building.

She stood there with her tight skirt hugging her hips, curly hair bouncing, blouse a size too small on purpose. Even the way she breathed was sexy.

She looked at us like we were a headache she secretly enjoyed.

"What's going on with you three?" she said.

"Weren't you supposed to submit a group project? Why is only Neil's name here?"

Me and Michael just stared at Neil.

Michael burst first.

"Ma'am, he removed our names. He literally took all the credit. We worked too."

Her face tightened. "I don't care about who did what. Resolve it among yourselves. If Neil submits this alone, you two fail. End of story."

Michael's fists curled so hard I thought his knuckles would snap.

Neil stood there pretending to be innocent but sweating like a sinner in church.

But then... Mrs. Claire's eyes landed on me again.

And something changed.

She didn't look annoyed anymore.

She looked... interested.

Her eyes started doing that slow scan — from my face... down my chest... lower.

She tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear, playing with it for a second like she forgot we were even talking about school.

Then she spoke, voice softer, almost sweet:

"And Alex... I need to speak to you separately."

Michael instantly turned his head at me like, Bro what the hell did you do now.

Neil looked like he was about to faint.

My heart didn't even beat faster — I knew that tone.

It wasn't a "teacher" tone.

It was the "I've been thinking about you in ways I shouldn't" tone.

I stepped forward slightly. "About my grades?"

"Yes," she said, eyes dipping for one second straight to my waist.

"Your grades have been dropping this semester. You're distracted. Unfocused. Meet me after the last lecture. I'll be in my office."

The way she said office felt illegal.

Then she turned around — slowly — her skirt tightening across her ass like it was trying to hold on for dear life.

No bounce wasted.

No movement accidental.

She walked away like she wanted me to watch.

Michael whispered from the side, "Bro... BRO... she wants to 'fix' your focus."

Neil whispered, "She never asked me to meet her alone..."

I didn't even react.

I just smirked and said, "I'll be there, Miss."

She didn't turn back.

She just raised her hand slightly, dismissing us with this lazy confidence like she already knew I'd show up.

We stepped out of the classroom.

Michael grabbed my shoulder instantly.

"MF... did you see the way she looked at you? She stared at your bulge like it owed her money."

I shrugged. "Maybe she really wants to talk about my grades."

Michael slapped my back. "Yeah, right. And I'm the Pope."

✧ ✦ ✧

We were heading across campus, walking down that long stone path that cut through the quadrangle. Sun out, breeze light, students everywhere — couples whispering, groups laughing, some dude sleeping on the grass like he gave up on life. Typical college vibe.

Michael was still buzzing like he drank three Red Bulls.

Neil hovered behind us, looking like a guilty puppy ready to confess to a murder.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Um... guys... I need to talk to you."

Michael didn't even look back. "If it's about you fapping in class again, please—"

"No!" Neil yelped. "It's about the project."

Both of us stopped.

Neil stepped in front of us like he was about to announce a global crisis.He took a deep breath.

"So... I'll... uh... put your names back."

Michael blinked. "What?"

"I'll add your names again," Neil repeated. "On the report. On the submission. Everywhere."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's a sudden change of heart."

Neil scratched the back of his neck. "Well... yeah... it's because... uh... my mom told me to."

Michael shot me a look.

I shot him a look.

Both of us knew EXACTLY what that meant.

"Yeah... my mom told me," Neil said. "She said Alex apologized. Like—actually apologized. Sincerely."

Michael leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "Bro, he thinks you were kneeling or crying or something."

I kept a straight face.

Neil continued, proud of himself: "Yeah... when she came home last night she said you apologized to her. She said you were... really sorry."

Michael covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.

I stared dead ahead. "Yup. That's... definitely what happened."

"She said you were really polite," Neil added.

Michael choked.

"Polite," I said. "Right."

"And respectful."

Michael's soul tried to leave his body.

"Very," I said.

"Yeah..." Neil sighed. "Honestly, I didn't want to remove your names. I was just angry. But since you apologized to my mom, I realized... you're actually a good guy."

Michael walked behind me and gripped my shoulders like he couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh he's a GREAT guy," Michael said, barely keeping his voice steady. "Super apologetic. Very remorseful. Insanely polite."

Neil nodded, oblivious. "That's what Mom said too! She said no guy ever apologized to her like that."

Michael lost it internally.

I elbowed him before he exploded.

Neil bowed his head a little. "So yeah... uh... I'm sorry too. You two didn't deserve that. I'll fix the project right now. After lunch break."

"Good," I said.

"Thanks," Michael added, smirking at me.

We started walking again.

The three of us crossed the courtyard — girls gossiping on one side, guys playing football on the other, some club handing out flyers aggressively like they were trying to recruit for a cult.

Neil walked ahead now, relieved.

Michael slowed down next to me.

Then — very quietly — he spoke:

"Bro."

"Yeah?"

"You apologized to his mom?"

I didn't answer.

"No, no, no, no, hold on—" Michael grabbed my arm. "THE MILF WHO SHOWED UP AT YOUR APARTMENT. The one who took her clothes off. THAT mom?"

I didn't break stride. "Drop it."

Michael stared at me like he discovered fire.

"You apologized while she was naked?"

"Michael."

"YOU APOLOGIZED WHILE SHE WAS SHOWING YOU HER—"

"MICHAEL."

He shut up.For two steps.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Oh my god... oh my GOD... Neil thinks you sat on the floor crying like 'Ma'am I am so sorry for bullying your son.'"

I tried—really tried—not to crack. My mouth twitched, but I kept walking.

"We're not discussing this."

"He thinks you apologized formally!! Like you bowed!!"

"I'm going to punch you."

Michael slapped my back. "No wonder she defended you! She probably told him, 'Alex was very sincere.' Yeah — I bet."

I glared, biting back a laugh. "Michael. Shut. Up."

He wiped tears from his eyes.

"I can't. I can't. I'm dying."

We reached the sheltered walkway — concrete pillars, vending machines humming, clubs setting up posters on the walls. Students walked past, arguing, laughing, flirting — someone even dropped a water bottle and cursed like they got shot.

Neil stopped at the vending machine, turning around with a bright smile.

"Guys! Want something? I'm buying."

Michael whispered, "Oh he's buying now... your apology must've hit hard."

I stepped on his foot.

Michael winced. "Ow— deserved."

Neil bought three cold coffees and handed them out like we were the Avengers.

"I want us to be a team again," he said seriously. "No more drama."

Michael raised his can. "Agreed."

I raised mine too. "Yeah. Let's make sure we don't fail Mrs. Claire."

Neil gulped. "Right... Mrs. Claire... today she seemed... tense."

Michael side-eyed him. "You okay?"

Neil nodded, then sighed deeply.

"She gets scary when she's upset. I hope she doesn't yell at you today, Alex."

I opened my coffee. "I'll handle it."

Michael made a weird cough-noise. "Oh, he'll handle it alright."

Neil narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Michael said too quickly.

We kept walking until we reached the central academic block. The building was buzzing — students swarming like ants, professors marching around with folders, the smell of cafeteria food floating in from somewhere.

We pushed through the crowd toward the main staircase when all three of us stopped at the exact same time.

Michael froze.

Neil froze.

I froze.

Because walking straight toward us was a goddess.

Long brunette hair that fell down her back in soft waves. Tight white T-shirt that looked one size too small — clinging to her body and showing cleavage so deep Michael almost forgot how to breathe. Skinny jeans hugging her hips like they were made for her. Small waist, perfect curves, steps confident like she knew half the hallway was staring.

And they were.

Every dude behind her was pretending to check their phone but actually staring directly at her ass.Some even slowed down just to watch her walk.

Michael whispered, "Oh MY GOD."

Neil whispered, "Is she... real?"

She walked right up to us — not the group of jocks, not the shy nerds, not the cluster of thirsty guys five meters behind her.

Us.

"Um... excuse me," she said, voice soft, slightly shy but insanely attractive. "Do you know where the principal's office is?"

Michael's jaw hit the floor.

Neil blinked like he forgot English.

I answered. "Yeah, top floor. Right side. Big double doors, can't miss it."

She smiled — and fuck, that smile was dangerous.

"Oh thank you! I'm new here, first day. Transfer student."

"Right, makes sense," I said.

Truth? It made too much sense. No regular student looked like that on a Monday morning.

She brushed her hair behind her ear, and every guy within earshot tilted their head for a better view of her neckline.

"What's your name?" she asked.

Before I could speak, Michael cut in—

"I—I'm Michael."He pointed at me. "This is Alex."Then waved vaguely toward Neil. "And that's... whatever his name is."

Neil looked betrayed. "It's Neil..."

"Oh! Nice to meet you all," she said with another soft smile.

Michael almost fainted.

She stepped away, turned to go... then paused and looked back at me.

"I... still feel a little lost. This building is huge. Do you mind showing me the way? Just to make sure I don't walk into the wrong place."

-x-X-x-

Michael and Neil both jerked their heads toward me at the exact same time.

I smirked. "Yeah. I'll help. Come on."

She smiled wider. "Really? Thanks!"

I started walking with her — and the moment she turned, I almost forgot how to breathe.

Her ass...

Holy fuck.

Those tight jeans hugged her curves like they were vacuum-sealed. Round, perfect, bouncing just a little with every step. It wasn't just sexy — it was dangerous.

My brain did the math instantly.

As sexy as Lily's... but tighter. Like her jeans were one wrong move away from exploding.

I had to physically stop my hand from reaching out and grabbing it. My fingers twitched.My pulse jumped.

Michael whispered behind me, stunned, "Bro... how do you ALWAYS pull?"

Neil groaned, "Someone nerf him already."

I didn't look back.

I just lifted a hand and waved lazily.

"Skill issue, boys."

But even as I said that, I wasn't thinking about them.

I was staring straight ahead at that perfect ass swaying up the stairs.

And Michael's dramatic groaning echoed down the hallway while I walked beside the hottest transfer student this college had seen — fighting the urge to grab her like she was another milf from my building.

"Thanks again," she said softly as we climbed the stairs.

Her voice... God.

Sweet, but with this smoky undertone that didn't match her innocent smile.

It hit me right in the spine.

I cleared my throat. "Uh—yeah. No problem. By the way... I never got your name."

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

"Aria."

Of course it was something pretty.

She looked like she'd been born with a name that made guys stupid.

"Alex," I said.

"I know." She giggled. "Your friends shouted it like ten times."

"Yeah, they're... idiots."

"Cute idiots," she added.

We reached the next landing, and she glanced back—just for a second.

Her hips shifted naturally as she walked, and because the staircase curved, I got a perfect angled view of her body.

The kind of view that felt illegal.

Her waist narrowing. Her hips flaring. Her ass lifting just a little with every step.

My brain short-circuited again.

Fuck... she was perfect from every angle.

"So..." she said, turning forward again, voice playful, "is everyone in this college like your friends?"

"Loud? Dramatic? Jealous?" I shrugged. "Pretty much."

She laughed—a warm, breathy sound that made the hair on my arms rise.

"I guess I made the right choice asking you," she said.

"You seemed... normal."

Normal.

If only she knew what was happening in my head right now.

We reached the final hallway.

She slowed down a little, walking closer—not touching, but close enough that I could feel her warmth.

Her arm brushed mine by accident.

Or maybe not by accident.

A small spark shot down my side.

She noticed. Looked up at me. Smiled like she felt it too.

The air shifted—just a bit.

Nothing crazy... but enough to make my pulse jump.

"Almost there," I said.

"Good," she whispered.

Then she leaned slightly toward me, lips near my ear.

"It's scary going alone. I'm glad you came with me."

Her breath brushed my skin.

And I swear my brain nearly melted.

We stopped in front of the principal's door.

Aria stood close—close enough that her perfume mixed with the heat of her body.

We stepped inside the principal's office.

Empty.

Lights were off, blinds half-closed, the whole place looking like someone just left five minutes ago.

Aria blinked. "Oh... that's weird."

I shut the door behind us. "He's not here?"

She shook her head. "I was supposed to give him some transfer documents. Proof of residence, attendance records from my last college, all that boring stuff."

I leaned against the desk. "So just paperwork?"

"Yeah," she said with a cute pout. "I came early so I wouldn't get in trouble on my first day."

"Good strategy." I smirked. "Most people screw up day one."

She giggled softly and stepped closer, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

Even in the dim room, she looked unreal — curves outlined by the soft light leaking through the blinds.

"So..." she said, "what about you? You've been here long?"

"Long enough to know the cafeteria food is a war crime."

She snorted. "You're funny."

I opened my mouth to answer—

CLACK.

A loud metallic click echoed through the room.

We both froze.

"What was that?" Aria whispered.

I tried the door instantly.

Locked.

Not just stuck —locked from the outside.

"What the—?"

Footsteps outside.

A voice followed, muffled through the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving now. Locking my office for the afternoon. Had to go pick up something from the admin building..."

Aria's eyes widened in pure horror.

"That's the principal," she whispered.

I knocked hard. "Sir! Sir, we're insi—"

But he was already walking away, still talking on his phone.

We heard his voice fade down the hallway:

"...students always messing with my office... better to keep it locked..."

Locked.

We were locked inside.

Aria's breath hitched. She spun toward me, panic rising fast.

"W-What do we do? He locked us in—oh my god—Alex—"

She grabbed my arm with both hands, fingers trembling.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," I said quickly. "We'll just call someone—"

"I'm claustrophobic," she blurted out, voice shaking. "I-I can't handle small locked spaces— I didn't know this room didn't have windows—"

She stepped closer. Way closer.

Before I could react, she pressed herself into me — body soft, warm, trembling.

Her breasts landed straight on my chest.

Pressed so tightly I could feel her heartbeat through them.

And god... They were big.

Like, unfairly big.

Her forehead rested against my shoulder as she tried to breathe, voice shaking against my neck.

"Please don't leave me, okay? Just—just stay close."

I swallowed hard.

Yeah. I was staying close. Very, very close.

"It's fine," I murmured. "I'm right here."

Her hands slid up my shirt to my shoulders as she held on tighter, her body molding into mine like she was trying to melt into me.

Her chest pressed harder. Her breathing hitched. Her thighs brushed my leg.

Jesus.

This girl was supposed to be scared — but she was accidentally turning the whole room into a slow-burn furnace.

"We'll get out," I said, my voice a little rougher than I meant. "I promise."

She nodded against me, still clinging.

Still pressed. Still shaking... and making every nerve in my body go electric.

"Don't let go yet," she whispered.

I wasn't planning to.

I rested one hand on her back, steadying her.

Her body shivered — not from fear this time. Something else.

She looked up at me slowly, eyes wide, lips parted, still flush against my chest.

"Alex..."

Her voice was soft. Warm.Too warm.

And we were still locked inside a silent office.

-x-X-x-

The room felt smaller now. Quieter. Just the faint hum of the old air conditioner and our breathing.

Aria was still pressed against me, her face tucked into my shoulder, hands gripping the back of my shirt like I was the only thing keeping her grounded. I could feel the quick, shallow rise and fall of her chest against mine, the warmth of her body seeping through both our clothes.

"Hey," I said softly, pulling back just enough to look at her. "You're okay. We're okay. He'll be back eventually, or someone will notice the door's locked."

She nodded, but didn't let go. Her eyes were glassy, a little wide, lips slightly parted. "I know. It's just... I hate feeling trapped."

I glanced around the office. There was a small leather sofa against the far wall, probably for waiting parents or tired faculty. Dark brown, worn in just right.

"Come on," I said, gently guiding her with a hand on her lower back. "Let's sit down. Standing like this isn't helping."

She let me lead her, still holding onto my arm like she was afraid I'd vanish if she let go. We moved slowly across the room, her hip brushing mine with every step.

I sat first, on the edge of the sofa, and tugged lightly on her hand. "Here. Sit."

She hesitated for half a second, then sank down beside me—close. Really close. Her thigh pressed against mine, warm through the denim. She didn't pull away.

"Better?" I asked.

"A little," she murmured. She took a deeper breath, like she was trying to calm herself down. "Thanks for not... freaking out."

I smiled faintly. "I've been locked in worse places."

She turned her head to look at me, one eyebrow raised. "Oh yeah? Like where?"

"Storage closet in high school. With a girl. Different circumstances."

A small laugh escaped her—soft, surprised. "Of course you have."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she said, but her smile grew, teasing now. "Just... you seem like the kind of guy who ends up in situations."

I leaned back slightly, letting my arm rest along the back of the sofa—behind her, but not touching. Yet. "And you seem like the kind of girl who asks strangers for help and ends up locked in offices with them."

She bit her lip, looking down at her hands in her lap. "Maybe I wanted to end up locked in an office with you."

The words hung there. Quiet. Playful. But heavy.

I felt my pulse kick.

"Did you?" I asked, voice lower.

She glanced up at me through her lashes. "I don't know. You were the only one who didn't stare at me like I was a menu item."

"I stared," I admitted.

She laughed again, softer this time. "Yeah, but... different. Less obvious."

I let my fingers brush the back of the sofa, just inches from her shoulder. "I'm trying to be good."

"Are you?" she whispered. She shifted slightly, turning toward me more. Her knee bumped mine. Stayed there.

"Trying," I repeated.

She looked at me for a long moment, eyes searching mine. Then she leaned in—just a little. Not enough to close the distance, but enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath.

"You're warm," she said quietly.

"You're shaking again."

"Not from fear this time."

Silence stretched between us, thick and electric.

Her hand moved—slowly—resting on my thigh. Light. Barely there. But enough.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe too loud.

She watched my face, waiting. Testing.

I let my fingers finally drop from the back of the sofa to her shoulder. Just a graze. Bare skin where her shirt had slipped slightly.

She inhaled sharply. Didn't pull away.

"Still scared?" I asked.

"A little," she admitted. "But not of the room anymore."

I smiled, slow.

"Good."

And we stayed like that—close, touching just enough to feel it everywhere, neither of us moving to break the moment.

We stayed like that for what felt like minutes—maybe longer—just breathing together in the dim room. My hand kept moving in those slow, absent circles on her back, light enough to soothe, firm enough to let her know I wasn't letting go.

"You're relaxing a little," I said quietly against her hair.

She made a small sound—half agreement, half something else. "Yeah. You're good at this."

"At what?"

"Making things feel... less scary."

I smiled into her shoulder. "Happy to help."

Her head shifted slightly, nestling closer, and her hand on my thigh loosened—just resting now, palm flat, fingers spread. Warm. Steady.

But then she moved again. Barely. A tiny adjustment as she got more comfortable, her body settling deeper into the sofa, into me.

Her hand slid maybe an inch. Not on purpose. Just natural, following the shift of her weight.

And that's when her fingertips brushed it.

My bulge.

I felt it the second she did—her hand freezing, just for a fraction of a second. Not pulling away. Just... pausing.

I tensed. Couldn't help it. Blood was already rushing, had been for a while, and there was no hiding it now. Not this close. Not with her pressed against me.

Shit.

I tried to shift my hips back—just a little, subtle—but the sofa didn't give much room. And honestly? I didn't want to move away. Not really.

She didn't say anything.

Didn't move her hand.

But I felt her breath change—deeper, then shallower. A soft inhale against my neck.

Her fingers stayed where they were—light, still, right at the edge of where denim stretched tight.

I swallowed.

"You okay?" I asked, voice rougher than before.

She nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered. "Are... you?"

I let out a quiet breath. "Trying to be."

She didn't laugh. Didn't tease. Just let her hand rest there—barely any pressure, but enough that we both knew exactly where it was.

Enough that I felt myself twitch under the fabric. Once. Unmistakable.

Her fingers flexed—just slightly. Not exploring. Not pulling back. Like she was feeling it happen. Like she couldn't help noticing.

Like it made her own breathing hitch again.

"I didn't mean to—" she started, so soft I barely heard it.

"I know," I said quickly. "It's okay. You didn't do anything."

She was quiet for a second. Then: "It's... because of me, isn't it?"

I didn't lie. Couldn't. Not with her this close.

"Yeah," I admitted, low. "It is."

She didn't move her hand away.

If anything, her palm settled a little warmer. Still careful. Still light.

But present.

And we both felt it—the slow, heavy pulse under her touch.

Neither of us said another word.

We just sat there, tangled close, breathing through the warmth, the tension, the quiet truth neither of us was ready to name yet.

But both of us felt.

The silence wrapped around us like the dim light filtering through the blinds, thick and humming.

Her palm stayed there, warm and unmoving, but I could feel the tiniest tremor in her fingers—like she was surprised by her own bravery. Or maybe just by how obvious it was.

I shifted my arm along the back of the sofa, letting my fingers brush the ends of her hair. Soft. Silky. I didn't pull her closer; I didn't need to. She was already leaning into me, her body soft and trusting against my side.

"You don't have to keep it there," I said quietly, giving her the out. "If it's weird."

-x-X-x-

She shook her head almost immediately, the movement small against my shoulder. "It's not weird," she whispered. "It's just... new."

New.

That word hung between us, soft and honest.

And my brain snagged on it.

New?

I mean... look at her.

Aria was the kind of beautiful that turned heads without trying. The tight jeans, the curves that made my dick hard from the second I saw her on the stairs, that smile guys would kill for. She walked into a room and owned it without knowing she did.

Girls like that don't usually get to college without... something. A boyfriend in high school. Parties. Curious nights. Hands under shirts in dark cars. Something.

There's just no way she's never had a guy begging to let her touch him. No way she's never felt this before.

Right?

But the way she was holding me now—careful, almost reverent, fingers shaking just a little every time I throbbed against her palm—didn't feel like an act. It didn't feel like teasing or false innocence.

It felt real.

Like she genuinely didn't know exactly how to move her hand next. Like every small reaction from me was surprising her in the best way.

And that thought twisted something deep in my chest.

Because if this really was new for her—if no one else had ever gotten this far, or if they had and she still felt this wide-eyed about it—then what the hell did that say?

I let out a slow breath. "For what it's worth," I murmured, "you're making it really hard to stay calm."

A tiny, breathy laugh escaped her. "I can tell."

Her fingers flexed again—barely. Just enough pressure to feel the throb underneath. My hips twitched involuntarily, and she felt that too. Her breath caught, warm against my neck.

"Sorry," I muttered, voice strained. The denim was pulled so tight now it was bordering on actual pain—like the fabric was fighting a losing battle.

Aria lifted her head just enough to look at me, eyes wide and searching in the low light. Her hand was still there, palm curved gently around the ridge, feeling every hard throb.

"You okay?" she whispered, concern threading through the warmth in her voice.

I gave a short, rough laugh. "Yeah. Just... getting uncomfortable. It's too tight."

She bit her lip, glancing down at where her hand rested. Her fingers loosened a little, like she thought she was making it worse.

Then, softly—hesitant, but sincere—she said, "You can... get it out. If it's hurting."

The words came out almost shy, but steady. Like she'd thought about it for a second and decided it was okay to offer.

I searched her face. No teasing. No pressure. Just quiet permission.

"You sure?" I asked, low.

She nodded, a small movement, cheeks flushing deeper. "I don't want you to be in pain."

I exhaled slowly, hand moving to the button of my jeans. My fingers brushed hers as I did—unintentional, but neither of us moved away.

The button popped open with a soft sound in the quiet room.

The zipper came down just as slow—deliberate, giving her every chance to change her mind.

She didn't.

Cooler air hit heated skin as I eased myself free, careful, mindful of her hand still resting nearby. I didn't push or guide—just let it happen naturally.

And then I was out, hard and heavy against my stomach, pulsing in the open air.

Aria's breath caught—sharp, audible. Her eyes dropped, taking it in fully for the first time. No fabric in the way now. Just skin, thick and flushed, a slow bead of wetness already at the tip.

She didn't pull back. If anything, her hand hovered closer—fingers trembling slightly, like she wanted to touch but wasn't sure how.

"It's..." she started, voice barely above a whisper, "really warm."

I let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."

Her fingertips brushed the underside—feather-light, exploratory. Just once. Up the length, slow and wondering, stopping just before the head.

I groaned quietly, hips shifting toward her touch without meaning to.

She paused, looking up at me again—eyes dark, lips parted.

"Is that better?" she asked softly.

"So much better," I murmured.

And she let her fingers settle again—this time skin on skin.

Her hand wrapped around me slowly, like she was testing the weight of it. Palm first, then fingers curling one by one, loose at first, then a little firmer when she realized how easily I filled her grip. Her touch was impossibly soft—nothing like the confident strokes I was used to. It was feather-light, almost hesitant, as if she was afraid too much pressure would break something.

But that softness... God, it was torture in the best way.

I felt every inch of her skin against mine, warm and smooth, no calluses, no rush. Just pure, careful exploration.

She held me for a long moment, not moving, just feeling the heat, the hardness, the slow, steady pulse under her fingers.

"It's so warm," she whispered again, like she couldn't get over it. Her thumb rested along the underside, barely pressing, but enough that I throbbed hard in her hand.

I exhaled through my teeth. "Your hands are too soft," I said, voice rough. "Feels unreal."

She glanced up at me, cheeks flushed, a shy little smile tugging at her lips. "Is that... good?"

"Too good," I admitted.

That seemed to encourage her. Her fingers tightened—just a fraction. Not a stroke. Just a gentle squeeze, like she wanted to feel how I reacted.

I did. My hips lifted slightly off the sofa, a low sound escaping my throat.

She felt it. Her breath hitched.

"Did that hurt?" she asked quickly, loosening her grip.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Opposite. Do it again."

She bit her lip, eyes dropping back down. Then, slowly, she squeezed again—soft, experimental. Watching my face the whole time.

I groaned quietly. "Yeah... like that."

Her confidence grew in tiny increments. She slid her hand up—slowly—fingertips gliding along the length, stopping just below the head. Then back down, palm brushing the base, soft as silk.

Every movement was careful. Deliberate. Like she was memorizing me.

I couldn't take my eyes off her face—the wonder in her expression, the way her lips stayed parted, the faint flush spreading down her neck.

"You're shaking," I murmured.

"So are you," she whispered back.

-x-X-x-

She wasn't wrong. My whole body felt wired, every nerve lit up from how gentle she was being.

Her thumb brushed over the tip then—accidental at first, just the edge of it. But when she felt the wetness there, she paused.

"Oh..." she breathed, circling it slowly, spreading the bead with the pad of her thumb. Light. Curious.

I hissed in a breath. "Fuck—Aria..."

She froze. "Too much?"

"No," I said quickly. "Just... sensitive there."

She nodded, eyes wide. Then did it again—slower this time. Deliberate. Watching how my abs tensed, how my hand gripped the sofa cushion.

"I didn't know it would be this... slippery," she said softly, almost to herself.

I let out a shaky laugh. "Only because you're doing this to me."

Her fingers wrapped around me again, fuller this time. She started a slow, tentative stroke—up and down, loose grip, soft palm gliding over heated skin.

Not fast. Not skilled.

But perfect.

Because it was her.

Because every little pause, every soft squeeze, every time she glanced up to check my face—it all said the same thing.

She wanted to get this right.

For me.

For herself.

"You feel so hard," she whispered, voice trembling just a little. "Like... velvet over steel."

I groaned again, deeper this time. "Keep talking like that and I won't last long."

She smiled—small, shy, pleased with herself.

Her rhythm stayed slow. Unhurried. Like she had all the time in the world to learn this.

Up... pause at the head, thumb brushing lightly.

Down... fingers tightening just slightly at the base.

Up again.

Each stroke sent heat rolling through me, building slow and heavy.

I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then let my hand rest on her thigh—warm, grounding.

"You're driving me crazy," I said low.

"Good crazy?" she asked, voice soft, hopeful.

"The best kind."

I let it go on for a few more strokes, just feeling her softness, her curiosity, the way she was learning me with every gentle pass.

Then I moved my hand from her thigh, sliding it slowly up her arm until my fingers covered hers—loose, not taking over, just resting there.

"Hey," I whispered, voice low and rough. "Can I show you something?"

She nodded immediately, eyes flicking up to mine, dark and trusting. Her rhythm slowed, waiting.

I curled my fingers over hers, guiding her grip just a little tighter—not hard, just enough to add pressure. Then I moved our hands together: a slow, firm stroke from base to tip, twisting gently at the top so her palm glided over the sensitive head.

She followed the motion perfectly, breath catching as she felt the difference.

"Like that," I murmured. "A little tighter... feels incredible."

Her lips parted on a soft exhale. "Okay..."

We did it again—together. Slow pull up, twist, slide down. My thumb nudged hers, showing her how to press lightly along the underside on the way back up.

She shivered—full body—and I felt her thighs press together beside mine.

"You feel that?" I asked quietly, guiding us into another stroke. "How it throbs when you do it right?"

"Yeah," she breathed, voice trembling. Her free hand gripped my shirt, knuckles brushing my chest. "I feel it."

I kept our hands moving—unhurried, steady—letting her take more of the control each time. After a few strokes, I loosened my fingers, letting her lead while my hand stayed over hers, encouraging.

She picked it up fast. Grip firmer now, twist at the top smoother, thumb sweeping over the tip each time, spreading the wetness down the length.

Every pass made her breathing quicker, shallower.

I slid my free hand to her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt—barely an inch, just enough to touch warm skin. She didn't flinch. If anything, she leaned into it.

"You're getting me so worked up," I said against her temple. "And you're shaking again."

She let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "I can't help it. It's... intense. Feeling you like this."

My thumb traced slow circles on the skin of her lower back, just above the waistband of her jeans. Light. Soothing. But deliberate.

Her hips shifted—small, involuntary—pressing closer to my side.

"Tell me if you want me to stop touching you," I whispered.

"Don't," she said quickly, almost desperate. "Please don't."

I traced higher under her shirt—slow inches, fingertips grazing the soft skin along her spine. Every time I moved up, she arched just slightly into my touch.

"You're so warm here," I murmured, thumb brushing the edge of her bra strap.

She whimpered—quiet, surprised at herself—and her hand tightened around me on the next stroke.

"Good girl," I breathed, without thinking.

Her whole body flushed hot against me. I felt it.

She tucked her face into my neck, lips brushing my skin accidentally—or not—as she kept moving her hand.

Slow.

Firm.

Perfect.

And getting faster now, like the arousal building in me was echoing back into her.

Like showing her how to touch me was teaching her how much she liked being touched too.

We stayed like that—her hand on me, my hand on her back, guiding, encouraging, exploring.

Breathing the same air.

Getting lost in the same heat.

Neither of us in a hurry to stop.

But after a few more minutes of her soft, steady strokes—twisting at the top, squeezing gently at the base—the pressure built in a way that wasn't releasing. It was good, damn good, but it wasn't enough. The ache deepened, like my body was wound too tight, begging for more friction, more heat, something to push me over.

I shifted my hips slightly, trying to chase it without making it obvious, but she felt it. Her hand slowed, fingers loosening just a bit.

"You okay?" she whispered against my neck, voice laced with concern.

I let out a rough breath, hand stilling on her back. "Yeah. It's just... building up. Feels amazing, but I'm not... there yet."

She pulled back enough to look at me, eyes wide and searching, cheeks still pink. Her hand stayed wrapped around me, warm and still. "Did I do something wrong?"

-x-X-x-

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. I tucked another strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her jaw. "You're doing everything right. It's me. Hand stuff feels great, but sometimes it's not enough to... finish. Especially when I'm this worked up."

She bit her lip, glancing down at where she held me—still hard, still throbbing in her grip. "Because of me?"

I nodded, voice low. "Yeah. You've got me so hard it hurts a little. Not in a bad way—just... need more."

That hit her, I could see it—the flush deepening on her cheeks, her thighs pressing together again. She didn't pull away; if anything, her fingers curled a little tighter, like she wanted to fix it. "What... what would make it better? I don't want you hurting like that. Not because of me."

I searched her face, making sure she meant it—no rush, no push. "Something warmer. Wetter. Like... if you used your mouth, it might relieve it. But you don't have to. Seriously. This is already more than enough."

She froze for a second, eyes widening. Not scared—curious. Surprised at herself for considering it. "My mouth?"

I nodded, keeping my voice soft. "Yeah. Feels different. Better for when it's stuck like this. But only if you're okay with it. We can stop."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she glanced down again, her fingers tracing the length of me slowly, like she was imagining it. Her breathing was quicker, and I felt her body lean a little more into mine, warm and soft against my side. "I've never... but if it helps you... I want to try."

"You sure?" I asked, my hand sliding up her back a bit higher under the shirt, thumb brushing the clasp of her bra.

She nodded, a small, shy smile breaking through. "Yeah. Show me how?"

"Okay," I whispered, my voice low and steady, trying to keep everything calm for her. My hand moved from her back to the nape of her neck, fingers threading gently into her hair—not pulling, just guiding, light pressure to show her the way. She leaned with it, her body still pressed warm against my side as she bent forward a little, her face hovering closer.

"Start slow," I murmured, my thumb stroking the side of her neck. "Just touch it with your lips first. Like a kiss."

She nodded, her breath coming out shaky against me—warm puffs that made me twitch in anticipation. Her lips brushed the tip first, soft and hesitant, barely there. It was like silk, warm and gentle, sending a spark straight up my spine.

"God, that's good," I breathed, my fingers tightening just a fraction in her hair. "Again... a little firmer."

She did, pressing her lips more deliberately this time, a real kiss—slow, lingering. Her mouth was so soft, untouched by anything rough, like it was made for this. I felt the heat of it seep into me, the ache starting to shift from frustration to something sharper, sweeter.

"Now... your tongue," I said, voice rougher. "Just lick the tip. Taste it."

She hesitated for half a second, then her tongue darted out—light, exploratory, circling the head slowly. Wet. Warm. Smooth as heaven. A quiet hum escaped her, like she was surprised by the taste, but she didn't stop. She licked again, flatter this time, tracing the underside.

"Fuck, Aria..." I groaned, my hips shifting involuntarily toward her. "Your mouth feels incredible. So soft."

She glanced up at me, eyes wide and dark, lips glistening now. "Like this?" she whispered, her voice small but eager.

"Yeah," I said, guiding her head back down gently. "Now... open a little. Take the head in. Suck softly."

She parted her lips, sliding them over the tip—warm, enveloping wetness wrapping around me. No teeth, just pure softness, her tongue cradling underneath as she sucked lightly, experimental. It was heaven—tight but gentle, her inexperience making every movement feel raw and real. She bobbed once, shallow, testing how much she could take.

I let out a low moan, my free hand gripping the sofa. "Just like that... slow. You're perfect. Feels so good I can barely think."

Encouraged, she went again—deeper this time, lips stretching softly around me, tongue swirling absent but instinctive. Her mouth was a dream, slick and warm, pulling the tension out of me stroke by stroke. She was new to it, pausing sometimes to breathe or adjust, but that only made it better—the little breaks building the heat higher.

"Use your hand too," I murmured, voice strained. "Stroke the rest while you suck."

She did, her fingers wrapping the base, moving in sync with her mouth—up and down, slow and careful. The combination was electric, her soft palm gliding while her tongue pressed and swirled.

"You're making me crazy," I whispered, fingers massaging her scalp gently. "That mouth of yours... it's killing me in the best way."

She hummed softly around me—the vibration shooting through like a pulse—and kept going, gaining a little confidence, her rhythm smoothing out. Still gentle, still exploring, but damn if it didn't feel like pure bliss.

She hummed again, the sound vibrating through me like a low current, her eyes fluttering half-closed as she sank into the rhythm. It was like she was getting lost in it—her movements less hesitant, more instinctive, her tongue exploring with a slow, curious hunger that made every nerve in my body light up.

Her mouth was so warm, so slick, wrapping around me like it was meant to be there, her lips soft and plush as they slid up and down. She took me deeper on each bob, not rushing, just feeling—the way her cheeks hollowed slightly with gentle suction, her tongue pressing flat and swirling in lazy circles around the head before diving back down.

I watched her, mesmerized. Her hair fell forward, brushing my thigh, and her body leaned more into mine, warm and pliant against my side. She was breathing through her nose now, quick little inhales that matched the pace of her mouth, like the act itself was pulling her under.

A soft, muffled moan escaped her every few strokes, as if the taste, the feel of me filling her mouth, was stirring something deep in her too. Her free hand rested on my thigh, fingers digging in lightly, like she needed to anchor herself as she got lost in the sensation.

"Aria... fuck, you're incredible," I groaned, my voice thick, hand still gentle in her hair, guiding without forcing. "Look at you... getting into it. That tongue—God, keep doing that."

She responded with another hum, eyes lifting to meet mine for a second—dark, hazy, full of that innocent heat—before closing again, surrendering to the moment. Her rhythm picked up just a touch, smoother now, her mouth gliding wet and tight, saliva mixing with the precum, making everything slicker, hotter.

She was exploring me fully—tongue tracing veins, lips sucking a little harder at the tip before sliding down, taking me as deep as she could without gagging. The way she paused at the base, just holding me there in the warmth of her throat for a beat, nearly undid me.

But I wasn't ready to finish yet. Not like this. The build was perfect, the ache turning to ecstasy, but I wanted more—for her, for us. I let it go on for another minute, savoring how she was losing herself, her body shifting restlessly beside mine, thighs rubbing together like she was feeling the echo of pleasure between her legs.

Finally, I tightened my fingers in her hair—just enough to still her. "Wait," I whispered, voice strained. "Stop for a second. Come up here."

She pulled off slowly, reluctantly, her lips leaving me with a soft pop, glistening and swollen. Her eyes were glassy, breath coming in pants as she sat back up beside me, body still pressed close.

"Did I... do something wrong?" she asked, voice husky, a little dazed.

"No," I said, shaking my head, my hand sliding from her hair to cup her jaw. "You were perfect. Too perfect. I just... need to see more of you."

My eyes dropped to her chest, the tight white t-shirt clinging to her like a second skin, the deep V-neck teasing the swell of her cleavage.

It had been driving me crazy from the start, the way it hugged her curves, but now, with her flushed and aroused, it was unbearable.

She bit her lip, glancing down at herself, then back up at me—shy but willing. "Okay," she whispered.

I reached for the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing her stomach as I lifted it slowly—giving her every chance to stop me. She raised her arms without a word, helping me peel it off, the fabric whispering over her skin.

I tossed it aside, and there she was—sitting beside me in just her lace bra, black and delicate, barely containing her.

Her tits were humongous, tight and full, pressing against the lace like they were straining to be free. Round, perfect, with hard nipples poking through the thin material, begging for attention.

The bra was sheer enough to show the faint outline of her areolas, pink and flushed, and the way her breasts rose with each breath made my mouth water.

"Jesus, Aria," I murmured, voice low and rough, my hand coming up to trace the edge of the lace. "These are... incredible. So big, so tight." I cupped one gently, feeling the weight, the firmness—perky despite the size, defying gravity in a way that made my pulse jump.

She shivered under my touch, arching slightly into my hand, a soft gasp escaping her. "Alex..."

As I palmed her, thumb brushing over the lace-covered nipple, a flash hit me—last night, with Brittany. I'd fucked her hard, her tits bouncing under me as I took her from behind, full and heavy but not like this.

Aria's were bigger, tighter, somehow more perfect—higher, firmer, like they were sculpted for my hands.

The thought spiraled: what if I had both of them? Brittany and Aria, side by side, these sexy asses of theirs up in the air, waiting for me. Imagining it—both on all fours, doggystyle, their curves mirroring each other, asses round and inviting.

I'd switch between them, pounding deep, then sliding into their tight assholes, feeling them clench around me, hearing their moans mix as I claimed them both.

Brittany's hot, eager tightness versus Aria's innocent, untouched grip—it would be insane, overwhelming, the ultimate fantasy.

I pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on her.

"Better than anything I've seen," I said, meaning it, my other hand joining to cup both breasts through the lace. They overflowed my palms, so full and responsive.

I squeezed gently, thumbs circling her nipples, feeling them harden even more under the fabric.

She moaned softly, head tilting back against the sofa, her body pressing closer to mine. "That feels... so good. No one's ever..."

"I know," I whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck, my hands kneading her tits slowly, savoring the weight. "You're so sensitive here. Look at how they respond to me."

I pinched one nipple lightly through the lace, rolling it, and she gasped, her hand reaching out to grip my thigh.

We stayed like that for a minute—me exploring her chest, tracing the lace patterns, squeezing and teasing until her breaths came in short, needy bursts.

Her bra stayed on, but it was barely a barrier, the sheer material letting me feel every inch. She was lost in it again, eyes closed, body arching into my touch like she couldn't get enough.

But the ache in me was building back up, her earlier work leaving me hard and ready. "Aria," I murmured against her skin. "You want to keep going? With your mouth?"

She nodded, eyes opening—dark, hungry. "Yes... please."

I guided her back down gently, her lace-covered tits brushing my thigh as she bent forward again. She took me in her mouth once more, deeper this time, the sight of her massive, tight breasts swaying with each bob pushing me closer to the edge.

The fantasy lingered in the back of my mind—Brittany and Aria together—but for now, it was just her, and that was more than enough.

She took me deeper this time, lips stretching wide around me, sliding down until I hit the back of her throat. A soft gag escaped her—wet, surprised—but she didn't pull off. Instead she held there for a second, eyes watering just a little as she looked up at me, that innocent hunger burning brighter.

Then she backed off slow, tongue dragging hard along the underside, saliva trailing from her lips to the tip in a shiny string.

"Fuck," I groaned, my hand tightening in her hair—not forcing, just anchoring. "Take it like that again. Deeper if you can."

She did. Eager now, like my words flipped a switch. Down she went, throat opening a little more, cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder.

The wet sounds filled the quiet office—sloppy, obscene, her mouth working me with messy enthusiasm. Spit coated me, dripping down to her hand at the base, making every stroke slick and loud.

Her massive tits swayed heavier with the motion, lace bra straining, nipples hard and dark through the sheer fabric.

Every time she bobbed, they bounced, brushing my thigh, the soft weight of them driving me insane. I reached down with my free hand, grabbing one roughly—squeezing hard, thumb flicking the nipple through the lace until it poked out stiff and begging.

She moaned around me—deep, vibrating straight through my cock—and the sound was filthy, muffled, desperate. Her rhythm turned hungrier, head moving faster, lips tight and wet, tongue swirling sloppily at the head before plunging down again.

She gagged once more, louder this time, but pushed through it, taking me deeper than before, throat fluttering around the tip.

"That's it," I rasped, voice low and rough. "Choke on it a little. Feels so fucking good when you do."

Her eyes flicked up—glassy, needy—and she did it on purpose this time, forcing herself down until her nose brushed my stomach, throat convulsing around me. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she held it, humming low, the vibration making my hips buck up into her mouth.

I pulled her off slow, a thick string of spit connecting her swollen lips to me. She gasped for air, chest heaving, tits rising and falling fast under the lace.

"You okay?" I asked, thumb wiping the mess from her chin, smearing it across her bottom lip.

She nodded fast, voice hoarse. "Yeah... want more. Want you to feel good."

"Greedy girl," I murmured, guiding her back down. "Then suck it messy. Let me hear it."

She dove in like she was starving—lips loose and wet, sucking loud and sloppy, saliva everywhere. Her hand pumped the base hard now, twisting, while her mouth worked the head, tongue lashing the slit, lapping up every drop like she couldn't get enough of the taste.

I watched her, the way her body tensed beside me with every deep slide of her mouth, her lace bra straining as her chest pressed warm and heavy against my thigh—those massive tits soft and full, shifting with each bob of her head, the lace brushing my skin.

"Fuck my mouth," she mumbled around me, barely coherent, eyes locked on mine—pleading, hazy with need.

I didn't need more invitation. My hand went back to her hair, gripping firmer, guiding her faster—deeper—fucking her mouth in short, controlled thrusts while she stayed leaned over beside me. She took it greedily, gagging softly on the deeper strokes, spit running down her chin, dripping onto my thigh and soaking into my jeans.

The sight—her chest pressed tight against my leg, heaving with each breath and movement, lace darkened from her own saliva, her throat working me, tears streaking her cheeks from the effort but eyes burning with raw want—pushed me right to the edge.

"Aria—I'm gonna come," I warned, voice tight. "Pull off if—"

She didn't. Just sucked harder, hand pumping fast at the base, throat opening wider for me.

I lost it.

Came hard down her throat—thick pulses she swallowed greedily, moaning like it was exactly what she'd been craving. Some spilled past her lips anyway, dripping down her chin onto her chest, streaking the lace and running over the soft curve pressed to my thigh.

When I finally eased her off, she sat back gasping beside me, lips red and swollen, chin wet, the front of her bra darkened and clinging transparently to her skin, her tits still resting heavy against my leg. She looked wrecked—beautifully, perfectly wrecked—chest heaving, nipples hard and visible through the damp lace.

I pulled her up against my side, kissing her hard, tasting myself on her tongue.

"You," I murmured against her mouth, my hand sliding down to rest on her waist, pulling her closer, "are fucking dangerous."

She smiled—shy, satisfied, filthy—and nestled into me, breathing hard against my neck, her body warm and soft along mine.

The room smelled like sex now.

And we weren't even close to done.

I let the quiet stretch for a moment, just holding her, feeling the way her body trembled with aftershocks. But the heat in me was already building again—watching her like this, wrecked from sucking me off, lace soaked and clinging, those massive tits pressed against my side—it was too much to stay still.

"Come here," I said low, my hands moving to her hips. I guided her gently, pulling her over until she was straddling my lap, facing me.

Her thighs spread wide over mine, the plush softness of them sinking into my legs like warm pillows.

Those tight jeans hugged her curves even closer now, the denim stretched over her hips and ass as she settled, the seam pressing right between her legs.

She gasped softly at the shift, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders for balance. Her chest was right at my eye level—heavy, heaving under the damp lace bra, nipples still hard and dark through the sheer, wet fabric.

The weight of her tits pressed against me as she leaned in, the soaked lace cool and sticky against my shirt.

"Like this?" she whispered, voice shaky, her hips rocking just a fraction on instinct as she found her seat.

"Yeah," I rasped, hands squeezing her hips hard, fingers sinking into the soft flare there. Gods, her hips were wide, perfect for grabbing, the way the flesh yielded under my grip.

I pulled her closer, rocking her forward slow so her covered pussy brushed the bulge still straining in my open jeans. Even through the layers, I could feel the heat radiating from her, the way she was soaked.

She whimpered, nodding fast, her eyes wide and glassy. "Alex... I feel... so much."

I slid my hands lower, gripping the outer sides of her thighs—thick, plush, the kind of softness that made my fingers disappear into it.

I kneaded deep, feeling the give, the warmth, my cock twitching against her at the thought of those thighs wrapped around me later.

"So much here," I murmured against her ear, voice rough. "All this softness... and I bet you're still so tight underneath."

She shivered hard, her thighs clenching around my hips, pressing her chest closer. The lace scraped lightly against me, her nipples dragging through the damp fabric. "I... I am," she breathed, almost a confession. "Never... really done much. Please... be careful."

"Careful," I echoed, one hand sliding up her side, tracing the dip of her waist before cupping the underside of one heavy breast through the lace. It overflowed my palm, warm and full, the damp material clinging like it was painted on.

I squeezed gently, thumb circling the hard nipple, feeling it stiffen even more.

She arched into my touch, a soft cry escaping, her hips rocking subtly again, grinding down on the hard line of me. The friction made us both groan.

I tugged the bra strap down one shoulder slow, exposing more of that creamy skin, but left the lace covering her nipples—teasing, keeping the barrier for now.

My other hand stayed on her thigh, squeezing the inner softness, fingers inching higher toward the heat but not quite touching.

"Feel that?" I whispered, rocking her forward again, letting my cock press harder against her through the jeans. "That's what you do to me."

She sobbed softly, hands fisting in my shirt, her thighs trembling around me. "It's... too much... I feel so hot..."

I leaned in, lips brushing hers—not kissing yet, just teasing, my breath hot on her mouth. She leaned forward on instinct, chasing it, her tits pressing fuller against my chest, the damp lace cool between us.

My hands slid to her ass now, grabbing the round curves through the tight jeans—plump, perfect, jiggling slightly as the sofa creaked under our shifting weight. I squeezed hard, pulling her down firmer onto my lap, grinding her against me slow.

No entry. Just pressure. Just tease.

Her head fell against my shoulder, breath coming in needy pants, body burning against mine.

The office was silent except for us.

And Aria was already falling apart on my lap, waiting for whatever came next.

I let it build another minute, rocking her slow, feeling those thick, plush thighs quiver around my hips, the soft weight of her pressing me deeper into the sofa. But it still wasn't enough. I needed all of her, bare, shaking, mine.

My hands left the perfect swell of her ass and slid up the dramatic curve of her waist, thumbs brushing the damp lace that was barely holding on. I found the little clasp between her breasts, flicked it open with one twist, and peeled the soaked bra away like I was unwrapping something sacred. The lace whispered down her arms and hit the floor.

Her breasts spilled free—heavy, high, impossibly round for their size. Pale, creamy skin flushed rose at the tops, faint blue veins tracing delicate paths under the surface. Wide, soft-pink areolas, already drawn tight, crowned by stiff little nipples the color of strawberry candy, glistening from earlier sweat and spit.

I groaned, raw and helpless. "Jesus, Aria... look at you."

Both palms cupped them instantly, lifting the warm, heavy weight, feeling them overflow my hands like they were made to spill over my fingers. I squeezed slow, watching the soft flesh bulge between my knuckles.

"Aahhh..." she breathed, back arching hard, pushing them deeper into my grip. "Alex... they're... so sensitive..."

"Sensitive?" I rasped, thumbs circling those perfect pink nipples, slow, deliberate. They tightened even more, puckering under my touch. "They're fucking begging."

I rolled them gently at first, then firmer, pinching, tugging just enough to make her gasp. Every twist drew a broken little "a-ahh!" from her throat, her thighs clenching around my lap, soaked denim grinding helplessly against me.

I leaned in, mouth hovering over one pale pink bud, letting her feel my breath. It stiffened impossibly harder, the areola wrinkling with need.

"Please..." she whispered, fingers threading into my hair, trembling.

I took the nipple into my mouth, slow, deep suck, tongue swirling around the stiff peak. She cried out, loud and shaky, "Aaaahhh... Alex!" Her whole body jerked, hips bucking down on me.

I sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, teeth grazing the edge before soothing with my tongue. Released it with a wet pop, the nipple now dark-rose and shining, then moved to the other, same worship, same bite, same swirl until she was sobbing soft, breathless "aah-aah-aah" sounds with every pull of my mouth.

I alternated, greedy, left, right, left, sucking hard, nipping just enough to sting, then licking the sting away. Her tits swelled under the attention, skin blooming pink, nipples swollen and throbbing, glistening with my spit.

"Aahhh... it's too much... I can't..." she whimpered, tears of pure overwhelmed pleasure slipping down her flushed cheeks, but her hands only pulled me closer.

I pressed the heavy mounds together, buried my face in the warm valley, breathing her in, licking the sweat from her skin before going back to those perfect pink nipples, never letting up until they were red-pink and aching.

Only then did I pull off, hands still kneading, thumbs flicking the oversensitive tips one last time. She jolted with every touch, moaning brokenly.

"Stand up," I ordered, voice gravel. "Jeans. Off. Now."

She slid off my lap on shaky legs, breasts swaying heavy, nipples hard and wet, catching the dim light. Her fingers fumbled at the button, zipper sticking twice. She whined in frustration, hips wiggling, making her tits jiggle even more.

I leaned forward, hands steadying her waist. "Easy, baby." I pressed my lips to her soft stomach, just above the waistband, kissing slow, open-mouthed, tongue tracing the faint line down her navel. She shivered hard, a soft "mmh-aahh" escaping.

I kissed lower, across the luscious flare of her wide, child-bearing hips, mouthing the creamy skin, sucking gentle marks into the curve.

"These hips were made for my hands," I growled against her, biting lightly. "Made for me to hold while I ruin you."

She whimpered, finally popping the button, dragging the zipper down. The jeans peeled like a second skin, so tight she had to sway side to side, breasts bouncing with every motion.

I helped tug them down inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin, lower stomach, the soft rise of her mound, the silky tops of her thighs.

They caught at mid-thigh, stuck on all that plush softness. She struggled, breath hitching, little frustrated "nnh... please..." sounds falling from her lips.

I yanked harder, kissing the inside of each thigh as it came free, until the jeans pooled at her ankles. She kicked them away, trembling.

Only her panties remained, simple cotton now dark and translucent with her wetness, clinging to every fold.

She reached for them, fingers shaking.

I stopped her hands before they could reach the waistband of her panties, pulling her close again so her trembling thighs brushed my chest.

"Stay just like this a second," I murmured, voice thick.

I leaned in and pressed my mouth to the soaked cotton right between her legs. The fabric was warm, completely drenched, clinging to every fold. I dragged my tongue up the center in one slow, firm lick, tasting her through the thin barrier.

"Aaahhh—" Her knees buckled; she grabbed my shoulders to stay upright, a broken sob spilling out. "Alex... oh god..."

I didn't stop. I licked again, harder, sucking the wet cotton against her clit, feeling it throb under my tongue. Her hips jerked forward on instinct, grinding against my mouth. I could feel how swollen she was, how the little nub pulsed every time I circled it.

"Aahh... aahh... I can't... it's too much..." she whimpered, thighs shaking violently, nails digging into my skin.

I kept going until the fabric was even wetter from my mouth and her, until she was swaying on her feet, tears rolling helplessly against my tongue, losing every last bit of control. Only then did I hook my fingers in the sides and drag the panties down slow.

They peeled away with a soft, wet sound, revealing a neat, small patch of dark curls—just a little triangle of soft pubic hair, trimmed short, glistening with her arousal. I kissed the top of it, tongue flicking through the damp curls, tasting skin and salt and her.

She gasped, legs spreading wider on instinct. "Please..."

I slid one hand up the inside of her thigh, fingers gliding through slick heat, and parted her gently. She was soaked, swollen, pink and perfect. I traced her entrance once, twice, then pushed one finger in slow—just to the first knuckle—feeling her clench hard around me.

"Aaahhh—Alex!" Her whole body jerked, hips trying to take more, but I held her still.

"So tight," I groaned against her mound, adding a second finger, shallow, curling just enough to brush that spot inside. She cried out, thighs clamping around my hand, pussy fluttering wildly.

I pumped slow, in and out, thumb circling her clit while my mouth stayed on those soft curls, kissing, licking, breathing her in. She was dripping down my fingers now, coating my hand, the wet sounds loud in the quiet office.

Only when she was shaking so hard she could barely stand did I pull my fingers free, bring them to my mouth, and lick them clean while she watched, wide-eyed and panting.

Then I hooked my hands behind her thighs and tugged the panties the rest of the way off, letting them drop to her ankles.

She stood completely naked in front of me, trembling like a leaf, breasts heaving, pink nipples swollen and shining, small patch of dark curls wet and glistening, pussy flushed and dripping, thighs creamy and plush.

I looked up the entire length of her body, hands sliding to those wide, perfect child-bearing hips, squeezing hard enough to leave faint marks.

"Perfect," I said, voice raw.

She was shaking, eyes glassy with need, lips parted on shallow breaths. I couldn't wait another second.

I leaned back just enough to yank my shirt over my head in one rough motion, tossing it aside.

Then my hands dropped to my open jeans—still pushed down just enough from earlier—and I shoved them lower, kicking them off along with everything else until I was as naked as she was.

Skin hot, cock hard and slick against my stomach, throbbing for her.

"Come here," I growled, reaching for her again.

I pulled her forward and down in one smooth motion, guiding her back onto my lap—straddling me this time, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of my hips. Her plush thighs spread wide over mine, that creamy softness pressing warm against my skin.

Her dripping pussy settled right against the length of my cock—hot, slick, bare skin on skin for the first time.

We both groaned at the contact.

"Aaahhh—" she cried out softly, head falling forward, hands gripping my shoulders as her hips jerked on instinct, sliding her wetness along me. The head of my cock nudged her entrance, then slipped up to brush her clit, coating me in her.

I grabbed her ass hard—both hands full of those round, perfect cheeks—spreading her wider, rocking her slow so she dragged back and forth along my shaft.

Every glide made her clit rub against me, made the head kiss her opening without pushing in.

"Feel that?" I rasped against her neck, nipping the skin there. "That's all you. Soaked for me."

She sobbed, nodding fast, hips rolling on their own now. "Alex... please... I need you inside..."

Her heavy breasts pressed against my chest, pink nipples—still swollen and wet from my mouth—dragging across my skin with every rock. I could feel them throb, feel her heartbeat pounding through them.

I slid one hand up her back, tangling in her hair, pulling her head back gently so I could look at her—flushed face, tears of desperation on her lashes, lips swollen and trembling.

"Not yet," I murmured, voice rough but steady. "Want you dripping down my cock a little more first."

I rocked her harder, guiding her hips, letting her slick folds part around my shaft, her clit grinding directly against me now. The wet sounds were obscene—loud in the quiet office—her arousal coating me, dripping down over my balls.

"Aahh... aahh... Alex!" she whimpered with every slide, thighs shaking harder, nails digging into my shoulders. Her pussy clenched on nothing, fluttering against the underside of my cock, begging.

I leaned in and caught one pink nipple in my mouth again—sucking hard, teeth grazing—while my hands kneaded her ass, spreading and pulling her along me faster.

She was close again already—I could feel it in the way her body tensed, the way her cries turned higher, broken.

"Good girl," I growled against her breast, releasing the nipple with a pop before taking the other. "Come on my cock like this first. Show me how bad you want it inside."

And she did—hips bucking erratic, a choked sob tearing from her throat as she came hard, pussy pulsing against my shaft, fresh wetness flooding over me, dripping down my thighs.

I held her through it, rocking slow, drawing it out until she collapsed forward, forehead against mine, trembling and gasping.

Only then did I shift my hips, lining the head of my cock with her entrance—hot, slick, fluttering.

"Now," I whispered, hands tight on her hips. "You're ready."

She nodded frantically, tears still falling, body open and desperate.

She was trembling harder now, thighs shaking around my hips, hands clutching my shoulders so tight her nails left little crescents. Her breath came in these tiny, panicked gasps, like she was excited and terrified at the same time.

I stopped—just the tip pressing against her, no deeper—and looked up at her face. Tears still clung to her lashes, cheeks flushed deep pink, lips swollen and parted.

"Aria," I said low, voice rough but gentle, one hand stroking up her back to calm her. "You're shaking like crazy. You seem... so inexperienced, baby. Did your boyfriend not teach you anything?"

She froze for a second, eyes dropping, then shook her head almost imperceptibly. Her voice came out small, barely above a whisper, like she was embarrassed and proud at the same time.

"I... I've never had a boyfriend who... I've never done this." She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I'm a virgin, Alex."

The world tilted.

I went completely still, cock throbbing against her entrance, my hands tightening on her hips without meaning to.

"Aria," I said low, searching her face. "You're joking, right? This body—so fucking sexy—no way you've never had a boyfriend. No way someone hasn't already..."

She shook her head fast, more tears spilling, cheeks burning dark. "I'm not joking," she whispered, voice small and shaky. "I've never... let anyone. I'm supposed to stay pure."

I froze completely, cock throbbing against her entrance, shock hitting me like cold water. "Supposed to? What do you mean supposed to?"

She bit her lip hard, eyes dropping to where we almost joined, then back up to mine—vulnerable, ashamed, but honest.

"I'm... from a royal family," she said softly, like the words were heavy. "Back home. I've had a fiancé since I was little. Arranged. I was never allowed to... date or... anything. My first time is supposed to be with him. On our wedding night."

The words hung in the air, thick and unreal.

I stared at her, my hands still on her hips, cock pressed against her entrance, trying to process what she'd just said.

"Royal family?" I repeated, voice low, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. "Aria, come on. There's no royalty anymore. Not in this age. What are you talking about?"

She bit her lip harder, cheeks burning even darker, but she didn't look away this time. "It's not... like kings and queens with crowns," she said softly, voice trembling. "It's just... that's what people call us. Old money. Business royalty."

"The families that run everything behind the scenes—conglomerates, politics, all of it. We still do things the old way. Arranged marriages. Keeping the bloodline 'pure.' Political alliances."

I blinked, shock shifting into something else—understanding, maybe mixed with a surge of possessiveness. "So you're saying..."

"I was promised to the heir of a bigger conglomerate when I was a kid," she whispered. "It's been decided forever. The wedding's next year. That's why I was home-schooled my whole life. Why I was never allowed to date, or go out, or... anything. To stay pure for him."

She shifted slightly on my lap, wincing a little at the movement, then reached down toward the floor where her jeans lay in a heap.

Her breasts swayed as she stretched, still flushed and heavy, nipples hard in the cool air. She fished her phone out of the pocket, fingers shaky, and unlocked it with a quick swipe.

"Here," she said quietly, turning the screen toward me. "I'll show you."

It was a photo—formal, taken at some fancy event. Aria, younger, maybe sixteen or seventeen, in an elegant dress, standing beside a guy in glasses.

He was decent-looking—tall, clean-cut, serious expression, nothing special but clearly loaded. Behind them were older people in suits and gowns, all smiling stiffly for the camera.

The background screamed money—chandeliers, marble floors, the kind of wealth that didn't need to show off.

"That's him," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "My fiancé. We've been engaged since we were kids. The families decided. I've met him maybe ten times. He's... fine. Polite."

She set the phone down on the sofa beside us, screen still glowing, then looked back at me—eyes wide, vulnerable, tears still clinging to her lashes.

"Coming to college here was the one thing I fought for," she continued, voice cracking just a little. "My decision. My rebellion. I thought... maybe I could be normal for once."

I exhaled slow, trying to wrap my head around it. All the little signs clicked into place—her careful touches, the wonder in her eyes when she explored me, the way her body reacted like everything was brand new.

This perfect girl—curves that could stop traffic, that ass, those tits, that face—no one had ever had her.

"Fuck," I muttered, voice low and reverent, one hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. "You're telling me no one's ever been inside you?"

She shook her head again, eyes locked on mine, vulnerable and trusting. "No one."

Something dark and possessive snapped inside me.

Hearing it—knowing she was promised to some cold, arranged fiancé, some rich douchebag who'd never earned this, never made her shake like I did—lit a fire in my gut.

My cock throbbed harder against her entrance, swelling thicker, hotter, like her confession alone was pouring gasoline on me. She felt it—her eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping as I pressed firmer against her slick heat.

I didn't ask again. I didn't need to.

I crashed my mouth into hers—deep, hungry, claiming. My tongue pushed past her lips, tasting her, owning the soft little moan she gave me.

One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so I could take more, while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise, holding her exactly where I wanted.

She melted into it, kissing me back desperate, nails scraping my shoulders, body arching so her heavy tits pressed flush against my chest.

I broke the kiss just enough to growl against her lips, voice rough and low.

"He doesn't get this," I said, rocking my hips so the head of my cock dragged slow through her folds, teasing her entrance again.

"That fiancé of yours? He'll never have you like this. Never make you this wet. Never be the first one to stretch you, to fill you, to breed you."

She whimpered, thighs clenching around me, fresh tears spilling—but her hips rolled forward, chasing me, begging without words.

"I'm taking it," I rasped, nipping her bottom lip, then soothing it with my tongue. "I'm stealing you from him. Right now. This pussy? Mine. Your first time? Mine. The first load you ever take deep inside? All fucking mine."

"Aaahh—Alex..." she sobbed, nodding frantically, body trembling harder. "Yes... please... take it..."

My cock pulsed at her words, harder than I thought possible, pre-cum mixing with her wetness, making us both slicker.

The thought of breeding her—filling this untouched, royal pussy until she was dripping with me, marked in a way no arranged marriage could ever erase—made me feral.

I kissed her again, slower this time, but deeper—tongue stroking hers like a promise of what was coming. My hand slid from her hair down her spine, pressing her closer, while the other guided my cock back to her entrance.

She was trembling on my lap, thighs spread wide over mine, her slick heat hovering just above me. I could feel how ready she was—dripping, swollen, clenching on nothing—but the tightness was still there, that virgin resistance waiting to give.

"Easy, baby," I murmured against her lips, one hand splayed across her lower back, the other gripping the base of my cock to line us up perfectly. "Just breathe. I've got you."

I rocked her hips gently with my palm on her ass, letting the thick head nudge her entrance again and again—slow, teasing circles that spread her wetness around us both. Every little press made her gasp, her nails digging deeper into my shoulders.

"Aahh... Alex..." she whimpered, forehead falling against mine, tears still slipping down her flushed cheeks. "It feels... so big..."

"You're doing perfect," I rasped, voice rough with restraint. I tilted my hips up just a fraction, letting the tip breach her—barely inside, just the head stretching that impossibly tight ring for the first time.

She tensed immediately, a sharp little cry escaping, body freezing.

"Shh, relax for me," I whispered, kissing her slow, soft, my tongue stroking hers until I felt her melt again. My hand on her back rubbed soothing circles while the other kept us steady. "Push down a little when you're ready. Let me in."

She nodded against me, breath hitching, and bore down slow—her virgin pussy stretching around the head, so snug it almost hurt, hot velvet clamping down like it never wanted to let go.

"Fuuuck," I groaned low, head falling back for a second as I fought not to thrust. "So tight... you're taking me so good, Aria."