Too Big to Ignore

My parents had barely backed out of the driveway when it hit me.

We were alone. My sister's ex. The guy with the big black cock I had lusted after for most of my teenage years.

But now they had broken up. And he was here.

Just the two of us. In the kitchen. He was doing the dishes like it was a perfectly normal Tuesday. Like he hadn't just walked back into my life like some stupid fantasy I wasn't allowed to have anymore.

He turned when he heard me and leaned back against the counter, maintaining the same stance as earlier, as if nothing had changed, as if everything hadn't.

That look in his eyes made my whole body tighten.

And then--just like that--he said, "Are we gonna do something about the way you keep staring at my crotch?"

I went silent. My face burned. I stepped toward him before I even thought about it, as if my body had moved first, my brain still scrambling to catch up.

I touched his chest--warm under soft fabric, hard beneath. God. His ribs, his waist. And then lower.

Lower.

I froze when I reached it. Him.

He was so hard. And hot. And fucking huge. My fingers barely curled, and I could already feel the shape of him, heavy through his jeans.

My brain stopped. I forgot how to move. How to breathe.

And of course, I was still staring at it. At his cock. While I was touching it. Jesus. I looked up, cheeks burning, stomach twisted in panic--but he was watching me.

Watching me like he'd waited for this.

No smirk. No teasing. Just heat. And certainty.

He took my wrist--firm, but not rough--and turned toward the stairs without a word. I followed. I didn't ask where we were going; I didn't have to.

He knew the house and knew me.

He took the steps two at a time and went straight into my room. The second the door shut, I was against it. His hands were everywhere.

His mouth came down on mine, and it wasn't sweet. It wasn't careful. It was hot and hungry and tasted like everything I hadn't let myself imagine in detail.

His cock pressed awkwardly against my hip through his jeans. My thighs clenched, aching already. The way he kissed me was like I belonged to him. Like I always had.

I fumbled with his fly. My hands shook. I got it open and shoved his jeans down far enough.

Then he was out. Right there in front of me.

And--fuck.

It was the kind of cock that made you pause. Thick. Heavy. Unfair. My hand wrapped around it, and my lips parted in surprise. I couldn't stop the sound I made.

He groaned the second I touched him, low and startled like he hadn't expected me to be so bold.

Something snapped inside me.

I turned and pressed back against him, against his cock, against the wall. His hand slipped down between my legs--found me soaked--and he let out a sound like he'd been punched in the gut.

But then I turned again, faced him, and dropped to my knees without a word.

His eyes flickered with surprise, then heat. Real heat.

He didn't stop me.

I pulled his jeans and boxers lower, not gracefully, but with a palpable hunger.

And then--I saw him fully. Jesus. My pussy clenched just from looking.

I wrapped my hand around him again, tighter now. He felt like velvet over steel. My mouth watered.

I licked the tip first, just a flick of my tongue, just a taste to prove it was real. Then, again, I did it slower, with more pressure.

His abs flexed. His breath caught.

I opened my mouth and took him in slowly. Testing. Careful--he was big enough that anything too fast would choke me.

But I wanted the stretch. Wanted to feel full, to feel him take up space. I wanted him to know I'd thought about this--craved this.

He groaned. "Fuck."

His hand found my hair, resting there, not pushing yet, but present.

I moved slowly at first, tongue tracing along the bottom, letting my spit make a mess of him.

I didn't care how messy it got.

Then I moved faster. Let myself sink into it. His hips jerked, and I felt him try to hold back.

I didn't want him to hold back.

I pushed deeper. Gagged once. Didn't stop.

His thighs were flexing. His voice caught when he swore again--louder this time, almost helpless.

He pulled me off suddenly, not rough, just urgent. His hands cradled my face like I was something fragile.

I looked up at him, breathless, flushed, mouth wet. He looked down like he was about to lose it.

Then he bent, took both my hands, and pulled me up.

He kissed me like he needed to. Like, there wasn't enough air. His hands slid down to my thighs and then just lifted me.

My legs wrapped around his waist. His cock pressed right up against my soaked panties, and we both felt it.

We both groaned at the same time.

His mouth was on mine again, slower this time, deeper. Like he couldn't believe this was happening either. Maybe neither of us had ever really stopped wanting it.

He carried me to the bed like I weighed nothing. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. My back hit the mattress, and he followed me down without pause, spreading my legs with his hands like he had every right to. Like I was his to open.

I should've been embarrassed. I was already wet. Soaked. Embarrassment threatened, but the slick heat between my thighs didn't lie. He looked like he wanted to devour me.

"Fuck," he said, under his breath. Just that. A reverent, wrecked kind of sound.

Then he sank down, low between my legs, and tugged my panties off with a kind of quiet patience that made my breath stutter. He didn't rush. Didn't speak.

Just looked at me.

I felt like I was going to come from that alone.

Then his hands spread my thighs wider, and his mouth--God--his mouth was on me.

I gasped loudly. I couldn't help it. His tongue was hot, soft, and unrelenting. He didn't tease. Didn't play. He just ate.

I grabbed the sheets like I was falling. One hand in his hair. My hips lifted off the bed almost immediately--reflex, instinct. He groaned when I did it, low and rough, like he liked that I couldn't stay still.

His tongue flicked up, over, down again. He circled my clit slow, then fast, then sucked it between his lips and--

"Oh my God--"

I slapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late. I'd already moaned loud enough to echo off the walls.

He didn't stop.

He grinned against me. I could feel it. That cocky curve of his mouth just before he dragged his tongue deep again, like he could already feel me starting to come undone.

I was shaking, my legs tense, and my whole body felt like a single, taut wire, ready to snap.

"You're so fucking wet," he said, lifting his head just long enough to speak. His voice was dark, thick, and wrecked. "So sweet. So perfect."

I made a sound I didn't even recognise. Half sob, half laugh. I didn't feel like me anymore--I felt like some hungry, possessed version of myself. All I could think about was his mouth, and how close I was, and how it had never, ever, felt like this before.

He sucked my clit again--slow, focused, dirty.

My hands fisted in his hair. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Please," I begged. I didn't even know what I was asking for.

"Let go," he said, voice low, like a promise. "Come for me. Right now."

And I did.

It hit me like a wave I couldn't brace for. My whole body jerked, my back arched, and I came with a cry I couldn't swallow, couldn't muffle. I felt it everywhere--hot and deep and wet.

He didn't stop. Not until I twitched, oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders with shaking hands.

He kissed the inside of my thigh, once, softly, as if it meant something.

Then he climbed up over me again, his cock thick and slick against my belly. His eyes were heavy with it now--desire, yes, but something else too. Possession. Hunger. Awe.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he said, and kissed me.

I could taste myself on his lips.

And I didn't care. I kissed him intensely. Pulled him closer. Wrapped my legs around him again and whispered, "Please."

He didn't ask what I meant.

He just reached down, lined himself up, and pushed the head of his cock against me, slow, slick--

And then inside.

The stretch made me moan. He didn't slam into me--he was slow, deliberate--but he was big, and my body clenched around him, instinctively. He groaned, low in his throat, and dropped his forehead to mine like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "You're so tight."

I was panting. Halfway in, and I already felt split open. I dug my nails into his shoulders, trying to breathe through it and take him.

He kissed me--desperate, messy, like he couldn't get enough of my mouth, my body, any part of me. And all the while, he kept sliding deeper, inch by slow, torturous inch.

When he bottomed out, we both just froze.

I felt everything. Every twitch, every pulse of his cock inside me. I wasn't sure if it hurt or if it was just too much, and I didn't care. I never wanted him to move. I needed him to move.

But I also didn't want him to leave me empty, not even for a second.

He lifted his head and looked down at me with a softness I hadn't expected, like I was precious. His hand slid up my side, then over my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple until it hardened under his touch.

"Tell me how it feels," he said, voice hoarse.

I swallowed hard. "So full. I--I don't think I've ever been this full before."

His jaw clenched. "Fuck."

Then he started to move.

Slow at first, shallow thrusts that made me feel every inch of him pulling out, then sliding back in. I moaned, long and broken, clinging to him like I might fall apart if he stopped. The way he fucked me--it wasn't rough. Not yet. It was like he was savouring it. Savouring me.

Every stroke rubbed against that spot deep inside that made me lightheaded. I could feel I was slick, juices running down my thighs, feel the way my body gripped him tighter with every thrust.

He growled. Actually growled. "You're milking my cock."

"God," I screamed. "Don't stop--please, don't stop--"

He didn't. He fucked me deeper. Faster. The bed creaked under us, and my breath came in quick, punched-out sounds every time his hips met mine. I was climbing again, fast--too fast. My legs wrapped around his waist without me even thinking, trying to hold him closer, trying to take more.

"You gonna come again for me?" he asked, teeth grazing my neck. "Come on this cock?"

I couldn't answer. I could barely breathe.

My nails scratched down his back. My body was burning, shaking, and the pressure was unbearable--tight and hot and seconds away from detonating.

Then he shifted, just slightly, and I screamed.

My orgasm slammed into me, sudden and sharp, dragging a cry from my throat that didn't even sound like my voice. My body clenched around him like a vice, and he swore, loud and filthy, as I shattered.

He didn't stop.

He growled something against my ear, barely words--just noise and need--his rhythm breaking apart as I felt him swell inside me. And then he was spilling into me, deep, hot, and so much, groaning my name like it was being dragged from his chest.

I felt it.

I felt him fill me, thick and pulsing, his cock twitching with every spurt. The mess of it. The claiming. Like he was planting himself so deep I'd never be empty again.

And fuck, I loved it.

His whole body shuddered against mine as he rode it out, breath catching, arms locked around me like he didn't want to let me go. Like he couldn't.

When he finally stilled, we just stayed there. Still joined. Still shaking.

He buried his face in my neck, voice raw. "You feel like heaven."

And I thought--maybe sin did, too.