“I can’t?—”
“Yes, you can. Give me one more, firefly.” His thumb replaces his tongue on my clit. His fingers push deeper, faster, and a third finger stretches me in a way that makes my mouth fall open in a silent scream.
The second orgasm hits before I’m ready. Harder than the first. Deeper. It rolls through my body in waves that buildinstead of fade, and I soak his hand so completely I can hear it. And it’s so hot I’m on fire all over again.
“Goddamn,” he groans, pulling back to look at me. His face is glistening. His eyes are black. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”
I’m boneless. Trembling. Every muscle spent. And he’s not even close to done.
He rolls me gently onto my stomach. Unzips the wedding dress so slow it’s almost torture. He kisses every inch of skin as it’s exposed, my spine, my shoulder blades, the dimples at the small of my back.
The dress slides off, and I’m lying face down on rose petals in nothing but the cherry necklace and his ring.
I hear the tear of a condom wrapper. The click of a bottle cap.
His hand runs down my back. Over my ass. Between my cheeks. His thumb presses lightly, and I tense.
“Relax for me, firefly.” His lips press against the base of my spine. “Safeword?”
“Cherries,” I whisper.
“Good girl. You trust me?”
“With everything.”
He slides in a cold finger first. My breath catches, and he pauses. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Keep going.”
His finger eases in further. My body resists to start with as I squeeze my eyes shut, but once I adjust to the feeling, I want more. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.”
He works me gently. Adding more lube. Taking his time. His other hand slides beneath me and finds my clit, rubbing in slow circles that make the discomfort dissolve into something that borders on pleasure.
“More,” I breathe. “Please,” I beg.
I want to feel how full I’ll be with him inside me. I need it.
He replaces his finger with himself. The tip presses against me, and I bury my face in the pillow.
He pushes in. So slowly, I can feel every fraction of an inch. My hands fist in the sheets, and a sound comes out of me that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob.
“Breathe, baby. Slow breaths.”
I breathe. And the burn shifts. It transforms into something dark and deep and overwhelming that pulses in places I didn’t know had nerve endings.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Hunter. Oh my God.”
“I know.” His voice is wrecked. “Fuck, Lola. You’re so tight I can barely—” He stills and breathes through his nose. “You feel incredible.”
He moves. Not thrusting, just softly rocking his hips in a slow, controlled rhythm that lets my body set the pace. His fingers keep working my clit in tight circles, and the dual sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
Every stroke sends a wave of pressure through me that builds at the base of my spine. It’s not like a regular orgasm building. It’s deeper.
“Faster,” I whisper.
He increases the pace. Just barely. His hand grips my hip for leverage, and his breathing goes ragged behind me. “You want to come like this, firefly?”
“Yes. God, yes.”