He Fucked Me So Deep I Forgot How to Breathe

“Fuck… right there—”

He didn’t let up. He licked and sucked and fingered me until I came hard against his mouth, thighs clamping around his head, a broken cry tearing out of me. He kept going through it, drinking every drop, until I was shaking and oversensitive.

Only then did he climb up my body.

He kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue, while the thick head of his cock rubbed up and down my soaked slit. He pushed in slowly — inch by thick inch — until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch was perfect. Full. Overwhelming.

We both groaned.

He stayed still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.

Then he started to move.

Deep, powerful strokes that made the headboard knock against the wall. Every thrust dragged against that sensitive spot inside me. I dug my nails into his back. He growled and fucked me harder, one hand sliding under my ass to tilt my hips higher so he could go even deeper.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I opened my eyes. His were dark, almost black with lust, locked on mine as he drove into me over and over. The wet sound of my pussy taking his cock filled the room. My breasts bounced with every impact. He leaned down and sucked one nipple hard, teeth grazing, while his hips never stopped.

The second orgasm hit me without warning — sharp, intense, my walls clamping down around him so tightly he cursed. He fucked me through it, relentless, until I was gasping and clawing at his shoulders.

He pulled out suddenly, flipped me onto my stomach, and yanked my hips up. One hard thrust and he was buried inside me again from behind. The new angle made me cry out. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulled my head back, and started pounding into me with deep, punishing strokes.

“Still so fucking tight,” he growled against my ear. “Still takes my cock like you were made for it.”

I could only moan in response, face pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely open for him. He reached around and rubbed my clit in firm circles while he fucked me, and the dual sensation pushed me toward another climax far too quickly.

He felt it.

“Come on my cock again,” he ordered. “I want to feel it.”

I shattered.

My entire body locked up as the orgasm ripped through me. He kept thrusting through the pulsing contractions, groaning at how tightly I squeezed him, until he finally buried himself as deep as he could and came with a low, guttural sound — thick, hot pulses flooding me while I was still trembling around him.

We collapsed together, still connected, both of us breathing like we’d run for miles.

He stayed inside me for a long time, kissing the back of my neck, one hand lazily stroking my side.

Eventually he pulled out. I felt the warm rush of his cum leaking out of me onto the sheets.

He rolled me onto my back, looked down at the mess he’d made between my legs, and gave me that same dark, satisfied smile from three years ago.

“We’re just getting started,” he said quietly. “I still have all night… and I plan on making you forget how to walk.”

I was already wet again just from the way he said it.

We didn’t stay in bed long.

He pulled me up, still sticky and flushed, and led me into the large bathroom. The shower was already running hot when he stepped under the spray and tugged me in with him. Water cascaded over both of us as he pushed me against the cool tiled wall and kissed me like he was still starving.

His hands slid over my wet skin — cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, then sliding down to grip my ass and lift one of my legs high against his hip. The head of his cock rubbed against my still-sensitive entrance. I was already slick again, a mix of his cum and fresh arousal making it easy for him to push back inside me in one slow, deep thrust.

We both groaned into each other’s mouths.

He fucked me against the wall under the falling water — steady, powerful strokes that forced soft, broken sounds from my throat with every impact. My arms wrapped around his neck. My free leg trembled. The heat of the water, the hard tile against my back, and the thick stretch of him inside me made everything feel sharper.

“Still so wet for me,” he murmured against my lips. “Even after I already filled you.”

I could only nod, forehead pressed to his, breathing hard as he kept driving into me. One of his hands slid between us and found my clit, rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation pushed me toward the edge fast.

I came with a choked cry, walls fluttering around him, nails digging into his shoulders. He held me through it, hips never stopping, until my orgasm began to fade. Then he pulled out, turned me around, and pressed my chest against the wet tile.

He entered me from behind in one smooth push. The new angle made me gasp. He reached around, filled both hands with my breasts, and started fucking me harder — deep, wet slaps of skin echoing in the steamy shower. My nipples were trapped between his fingers as he squeezed and rolled them, sending sparks straight down to where his cock was stretching me open.

By the time he finally came again, burying himself deep and pulsing inside me with a low groan, my legs were shaking so badly he had to hold me up.

We rinsed off slowly. He washed me with surprising tenderness — hands sliding over every curve, lingering between my legs, cleaning the mess he’d made while occasionally slipping two fingers back inside just to feel how swollen and sensitive I still was.

When we stepped out, he dried me with a large towel, then carried me back to the bed without bothering to dress either of us.

This time was slower.

He laid me down and stretched out beside me, kissing me deeply while his hand explored my body like he was relearning every inch. He spent a long time on my breasts — licking, sucking, biting gently — until my nipples were dark and aching. Then he moved lower, spreading my thighs and settling between them again.

His tongue was softer now, more deliberate. Long, slow licks. Soft suction on my clit. Two fingers sliding in and out of my cum-filled pussy with wet, filthy sounds. He edged me for what felt like forever, bringing me close and then backing off, until I was writhing and begging in broken whispers.

Only when I was shaking and desperate did he climb back up and push inside me again.

This time he made love to me.

Deep, rolling thrusts. Eyes locked. Foreheads pressed together. Every stroke slow and complete, letting me feel every thick inch drag against my sensitive walls. I wrapped my legs high around his waist. My hands slid up and down his back, feeling the muscles flex with every movement.

The orgasm that finally took me was different — deeper, longer, rolling through my entire body in waves. He followed seconds later, groaning my name as he spilled inside me once more, hips stuttering while I clenched and pulsed around him.

We stayed connected for a long time afterward, exchanging lazy, open-mouthed kisses, bodies still trembling with aftershocks.

Eventually he rolled us so I was lying on top of him, his half-hard cock still inside me, my head resting on his chest. His fingers traced slow patterns on my back.

“I’m not done with you,” he said quietly, voice rough from use. “Not even close.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them.

“Good,” I whispered. “Because neither am I.”

Outside the hotel window, the city lights blurred into soft gold. Inside the room, the air was thick with the scent of sex and skin and something that felt dangerously close to the past we thought we’d left behind.

He was already hardening inside me again.

And I was already wet enough to take him.