Fifty Shades of Grey(127)

"You're innocence and enthusiasm is very disarming," he gasps. "You, on top... that's what we need to do."

Oh.

"Here, put this on." He hands me a foil packet.

Holy Crap. How I rip the packet open, and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers.

"Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don't want any air in the end of that sucker,"

he pants.

And very slowly, concentrating hard, I do as I'm told.

"Christ, you're killing me here, Anastasia," he groans.

I admire my handiwork and him. He really is a fine specimen of a man, looking at him is very, very arousing.

"Now. I want to be buried inside you," he murmurs. I stare down at him, daunted, and he sits up suddenly, so we're nose to nose.

"Like this," he breathes, and he snakes one hand round my hips, lifting me slightly, and with the other he positions himself beneath me, and very slowly, eases me on to him.

I groan as he stretches me open, filling me, my mouth hanging open in surprise at the sweet, sublime, agonizing, over-full feeling. Oh... please.

"That's right, baby, feel me, all of me," he growls and briefly closes his eyes.

And he's inside me, sheathed to the hilt, and he holds me in place, for seconds... minutes... I have no idea,, staring intently into my eyes.

"It's deep this way," he murmurs. He flexes and swivels his hips in the same motion, and I groan... oh my - the sensation radiates throughout my belly... everywhere. Fuck!

"Again," I whisper. He grins a lazy grin and obliges.

Moaning, I throw my head back, my hair tumbling down my back, and very slowly, he sinks back down on to the bed.

"You move, Anastasia, up and down, how you want. Take my hands," he breathes, his voice hoarse and low and oh so sexy.

I clasp his hands, holding on for life. Gently I push off him and back down, oh my. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation. His breathing is ragged, matching mine, and he lifts his pelvis as I come down, bouncing me back up. We pick up the rhythm... up, down, up, down... over and over... and it feels so... good. Between my panting breaths, the deep down, brimming fullness... the vehement sensation pulsing through me that's building quickly, I watch him, our eyes locked... and I see wonder there, wonder at me.

I am f*cking him. I am in charge. He's mine, and I'm his. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge, and I climax around him... shouting incoherently.

He grabs my hips, and closing his eyes, tipping his head back, his jaw strained, he comes quietly. I collapse on to his chest, overwhelmed, somewhere between fantasy and reality, a place where there are no hard or soft limits.

Slowly the outside world invades my senses, and oh my, what an invasion. I am floating, my limbs soft and languid, utterly spent. I'm lying on top of him, my head on his chest, and he smells divine: fresh, laundered linen and some expensive body wash, and the best, most seductive scent on the planet... Christian. I don't want to move, I want to breathe this elixir for eternity. I nuzzle him, wishing I didn't have the barrier of his t-shirt. And as rhyme and reason return to the rest of my body, I stretch my hand out on his chest. This is the first time I've touched him here. He's firm... strong. His hand swoops up and grabs mine, but he softens the blow by pulling it to his mouth and sweetly kissing my knuckles.

He rolls over so he's gazing down at me.

"Don't," he murmurs, then kisses me lightly.

"Why don't you like to be touched?" I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes.

"Because I'm fifty shades of f*cked-up, Anastasia."