My fingers trailed up your inner thigh, slow and steady, until they reached your center. I let them hover there, just barely touching. You were soaked. Needy. But so tight I could feel the resistance already.
I pressed in gently, just one finger, and you tensed immediately.
“Breathe,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I need you to let me in.”
Your muscles clenched again as I tried to slip deeper. I paused, leaning closer, one hand pressing softly on your stomach, grounding you.
“Look at me,” I whispered, locking your eyes. “This only works if you give in. If you stop trying to control it. Let go.”
You nodded, biting your lip, but your body was still fighting me.
I slid my hand back between your legs and pressed again. Slower this time. More pressure. Still tight.
“You’re going to take my fingers,” I said. “Because I say so. Because I know what your body needs.”
I moved closer, my breath warm on your thigh, my finger pushing just inside. “You’re mine now. Let me in.”
You exhaled hard. I felt the shift, your hips relaxing, your body easing open slightly.
“There you go,” I growled, my finger pressing deeper. “That’s it. Just like that.”
And when I felt you finally start to give in, your body yielding to me inch by inch, I knew.
I wasn’t just opening you up.