CHAPTER 404: CHAPTER 404; HONEYMOON PHASE 2 C (R+18)

His hands gripped her thighs tighter, keeping her exactly where he wanted her as he worked her with his mouth. The pleasure built in spiraling waves, each one stronger than the last, until her whole body was trembling.

"Please..." she gasped, not even sure what she was asking for anymore.

He hummed against her, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through her core. Her thighs began to shake, threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands held them open, keeping her vulnerable and exposed to his attention.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, when she was teetering right on the edge, he pulled back. The sudden absence of his mouth made her whimper in frustration.

When he finally stood, his eyes were dark with desire, his lips glistening. He straightened slowly, deliberately, maintaining that heated eye contact that made her feel completely seen, every desperate need, every aching want laid bare between them.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice rough and commanding. "I want you to look at me when you fall apart."

Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, still dizzy from the pleasure he’d been giving her. The cool granite beneath her was a stark contrast to the heat flooding through her body.

He stepped closer, the rough fabric of his trousers a stark contrast against her bare inner thighs.

He leaned in, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in completely, his face inches from hers.

"The fantasy," he whispered, his lips hovering just above hers, breath mingling, "is this part of it? Me, right here, about to take you exactly where you imagined?"

"Yes," she heavily panted, her world reduced to his scent, cologne, and clean skin and arousal, his heat, his overwhelming presence that filled every sense.

"Good."

With that single, possessive word that somehow contained volumes, he closed the final distance and kissed her, deep and consuming, as his hand found its way back to the very core of her, touching her without barriers this time.

His kiss was deep and claiming, swallowing the soft moan that escaped her as his fingers found her wet, hot center, slick and ready for him.

He explored her with a slow, deliberate touch, learning the rhythm that made her gasp and arch against his hand, noting what made her whimper and what made her cry out.

"Ting Cheng... please..." she begged, her voice a broken whisper against his mouth, barely coherent.

The coil of pleasure tightening low in her belly was becoming unbearable, pleasure bordering on pain.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged and uneven, his forehead resting against hers, his own control visibly fraying.

His eyes were dark pools of pure desire, pupils blown wide. "Please, what?" he asked, his voice husky, his fingers still moving in that maddening, perfect rhythm that was driving her out of her mind. "Tell me what you need."

She couldn’t form the words, couldn’t string together a coherent sentence.

All she could do was look at him, her eyes pleading, her body trembling with desperate need, begging without words.

That was all the answer he needed.

With his free hand, he fumbled with his own trousers, fingers less steady than usual, the sound of his belt buckle and then his zipper loud in the quiet kitchen.

In moments, he was free, the hard, hot length of him pressing insistently against her inner thigh, making her gasp at the contact.

He positioned himself at her entrance, the blunt head of him pressing against her, his gaze locked with hers with an intensity that made her feel seen in a way that went beyond the physical. "Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice thick with emotion beyond just desire.

She forced her eyes open, had to fight against the urge to close them, drowning in the intensity of his stare, seeing herself reflected in his eyes.

He pushed inside.

A sharp, breathless cry was torn from her lips as he filled her completely, stretched her, the sensation of him overwhelming every other sense.

For a moment, neither of them moved, suspended in the shocking, perfect intimacy of the moment.

The cool marble beneath her, the heat of his body covering hers, the feeling of him buried deep inside her, it was overwhelming, perfect, exactly what her fantasy had promised and so much more.

Then he began to move.

It started slow, a deep, rocking rhythm that made her whimper with each deliberate thrust.

His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady, pulling her onto him with every movement, controlling the pace and depth.

The world dissolved into pure sensation, the slap of skin against skin, their ragged breaths mingling in the air between them, the low, guttural sounds he made in the back of his throat that were barely human.

"Faster," she pleaded, her nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents in his skin, probably drawing blood, but neither of them cared.

A groan rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her.

He obliged immediately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent, giving her exactly what she asked for.

The kitchen counter was a solid, unyielding anchor as he drove into her, each movement pushing her closer to the edge, building that pressure inside her to impossible heights.

His mouth found hers again in a searing, desperate kiss, swallowing her cries, drinking down her pleasure.

She could feel the tension coiling in his own body, his muscles trembling with effort, his control fraying with every thrust.

"I’m... I’m close..." she gasped against his lips, her head thrown back, spine arching, toes curling.

"Come for me, Fei’er," he groaned against her neck, his pace becoming frantic, possessive, almost desperate. "Let go. I want to feel you."

His words, the raw need in his voice, the command laced with plea, shattered the last of her control.