Chapter 2: First Taste
The metallic rasp of Colson’s zipper was startlingly loud in the sudden quiet after Whitney’s climax. Moonlight painted stark lines across his face as he shoved his jeans down his hips, kicking them aside. He stood beside the bed, gloriously naked, the city lights catching the intricate patterns of ink swirling over lean muscle and the thick, straining length of his cock. Whitney’s breath hitched, her wide blue eyes tracing the hard lines of his body, a fresh wave of nervous anticipation tightening her belly despite the lingering tremors of her own release.
He met her gaze, his dark eyes fierce, possessive. "Still mine to worship," he growled, the low timbre vibrating through her. It wasn’t just a statement; it was a vow resonating in the charged air.
He didn't climb onto the bed immediately. Instead, he knelt on the plush carpet beside it. His hands, strong and tattooed, slid beneath her knees, gently urging her legs apart. The cool air kissed the damp heat between her thighs, making her shiver. He leaned in, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her knee. Then another, higher, his stubble scraping deliciously against her sensitive skin. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down her trembling thigh, each kiss a brand, a promise.
Whitney’s fingers tangled in the sheets, her knuckles white. She watched his dark head move lower, the moonlight glinting off his messy hair, a tremor of pure, electric need coiling deep within her again, surprising in its intensity so soon after the last wave.
His breath ghosted over her core, hot and damp. Then, a low groan rumbled from him as he pressed his face against her, dragging his tongue through her soaked folds in one long, slow, devastating stroke.
"Oh God!" The cry tore from her throat, her back arching violently off the mattress. Her hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into the inked skin, seeking an anchor against the tidal wave of sensation. The rasp of his tongue was relentless, exploring, tasting, circling her clit with pinpoint precision.
He paused, lifting his head just enough to murmur against her slick flesh, his voice thick, muffled, vibrating against her. "Taste like heaven, Mrs. Baker." The title, spoken with such raw reverence amidst the primal act, sent another shock through her system. He didn't wait for a response. His mouth sealed over her, his tongue delving deep before focusing again on the swollen bud, sucking gently, then harder, his fingers spreading her wider.
Whitney writhed, gasping, her hips lifting off the bed, meeting the rhythm of his mouth. "Colson... please... fuck..." The words were incoherent gasps, lost in the desperate sounds escaping her. His name was a prayer, a plea for mercy and more all at once. The world narrowed to the wet, relentless heat of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble against her inner thighs, the dizzying scent of their mingled arousal, and the overwhelming feeling of being utterly claimed, utterly known.
His free hand slid up her stomach, fingers splaying possessively over her soft belly, then higher, cupping the full weight of her breast, his thumb finding her nipple and rolling it hard. The dual assault was merciless, pushing her towards the edge with terrifying speed. Pleasure built, a tight, screaming coil in her core, winding tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue, every suck, every knowing press of his thumb.
"Gonna come again?" His voice was a dark rumble against her skin, vibrating through her. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes glinting up the length of her body to meet her dazed gaze. His lips glistened. "Come on my mouth, baby. Let me feel it."
The command, delivered with such rough certainty, shattered her. The coil snapped. She came with a choked scream, her body convulsing, thighs clamping instinctively around his head as pure, blinding ecstasy ripped through her. Wave after wave crashed over her, her inner muscles clenching violently around nothing, her cries muffled against the back of her own hand. Colson held her hips steady, his mouth relentless, drawing out every pulse, every shudder, until she collapsed back onto the sheets, panting, utterly spent, tears of overwhelming sensation prickling her eyes.
He finally lifted his head, breathing heavily, his lips slick, his chin wet. He watched her as she floated back down, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and glowing in the low light. A slow, utterly satisfied smirk curved his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving hers, dark and possessive.
"Fucking gorgeous," he breathed, his voice rough with awe and lingering desire. He pushed himself up from the floor, his body a powerful silhouette against the window. He placed one knee on the bed, then the other, crawling over her with predatory grace. He braced his hands on either side of her head, his weight settling carefully between her thighs. The hard length of him pressed against her hip, hot and insistent.
He lowered himself, his body covering hers, skin against skin, a delicious, grounding heat. He kissed her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue. It was possessive, intimate, a claiming that went beyond words. "Still nervous?" he murmured against her lips, a hint of his usual playfulness creeping back into his voice, though his eyes remained intensely serious.
She shook her head, her hands sliding up his sweat-slicked back, fingers tracing the ridges of ink. "No. Just... overwhelmed. In the best way."
"Good." He nudged her legs apart with his knee, settling fully into the cradle of her hips. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, slick with her arousal. He held himself there, poised, his gaze locked on hers. His expression was fierce, tender, vulnerable all at once – the rockstar stripped bare for his wife. "Ready?" The single word held the weight of their vows, the culmination of the long, teasing build-up, the gentle insistence of his worship finally reaching its peak. He wasn't just asking for permission; he was asking her to join him completely, to cross that final threshold together.
Whitney wrapped her legs around his waist, her blue eyes meeting his with unwavering trust and the same desperate need burning in his own. Her answer was a whisper against his lips, trembling but absolute. "Yes. Colson... please."
Her "yes" hung in the cool air, raw and real. She felt the blunt pressure of him at her entrance, a presence both terrifying and thrilling. He pushed forward slowly, controlled, letting her body adjust to the insistent pressure, the undeniable stretch.
She gasped, fingers digging into the sweat-slicked ink on his shoulders. "Easy... oh God, easy..."
"Breathe, baby," he rasped, his own jaw clenched tight, veins standing out on his neck. "Just breathe through it. That's it." He inched deeper, the drag intense, a white-hot friction that stole her breath. He met resistance, a deep internal barrier – her cervix. He stilled, buried deep but not fully sheathed. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, the words strained, a mix of awe and agonizing restraint. "So fucking tight and perfect. Okay?"
She nodded frantically, the pressure immense, almost overwhelming, yet threaded with a sharp, building pleasure. "Okay. Keep... keep going." He withdrew slightly, the slick glide almost as intense as the entry. His gaze dropped, trailing down her body.
He saw it then, beneath the soft curve of her belly, the distinct bulge where his length pressed against her from the inside, the outline visible under her skin. The sheer, intimate evidence of how deeply he filled her. "Jesus, Whit," he breathed, transfixed, his thumb stroking the spot gently. "Look at that. Look what you take."
The wonder in his voice, the raw visual confirmation of their connection, ignited something fierce and unexpected in her. Her earlier nerves dissolved, replaced by a sudden, shaky confidence. Before he could push forward again, her hands planted firmly on his chest.
She pushed.
Hard.
Colson, focused entirely on her, on the overwhelming sensation, was completely unprepared. A startled grunt escaped him as he tumbled backwards onto the mattress, landing with a soft thud. Whitney scrambled up, knees planting themselves on either side of his lean hips, straddling him in the silvery light. Her dark hair fell around her flushed face like a curtain.
He stared up at her, stunned, chest heaving, arousal warring with pure shock in his wide eyes. "Whit? Baby, what—?"
She silenced him with a look, her blue eyes blazing with newfound determination. Reaching between her legs, her fingers found him, slick and rigid. She guided the swollen head, glistening wet, back to her entrance. It pressed against her, still stretched, still sensitive, but welcoming. Her breath hitched as she teased herself with him, rubbing the broad tip through her slick folds, circling her clit, making them both shudder.
His hips jerked involuntarily. "Fuck, Whitney—"
Then she sank down.
Slowly. Deliberately. Taking him inch by agonizing, glorious inch. The stretch burned, a deep, full ache that stole her breath, but she controlled it, her eyes locked on his, watching the play of shock and rapture on his face. Her inner muscles clenched instinctively around the thick intrusion, drawing a ragged groan from him that seemed to shatter the quiet penthouse air. His hands flew to her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, holding on like she was his only anchor.
She paused when she was fully seated, stretched impossibly, achingly full, feeling every ridge, every pulse of him inside her. She braced her hands on his chest, over the intricate ink swirling across his pecs, feeling the frantic thud of his heart beneath her palms. Her voice, when it came, was a breathless, trembling whisper, but it held a command that vibrated through him.
"Show me," she breathed, her gaze unwavering, challenging, yet filled with trust. "Show me how to ride my husband."
Colson’s stunned expression softened into a look of pure, molten heat, his hands tightening possessively on her hips. "Fuck yes, Mrs. Baker," he breathed, voice thick. "Okay. Slow circles first. Real slow." His thumbs pressed into the softness below her navel, guiding her hips in a gentle, grinding rotation against him. "Just like that. Feel it? Feel how deep you got me?"
Whitney gasped, the deliberate drag inside her sending sparks up her spine. She focused on the sensation, on the rough whisper of his voice, the hard planes of his chest under her palms. "Y-yeah," she managed, biting her lip. "It’s… intense."
"Good intense?" His grin was wolfish, his eyes dark pools reflecting the city lights. She nodded frantically. "Then lift up," he instructed, his voice roughening. "Slow. Just an inch. Then sink back down. Don't rush. Make me feel every fucking second."
She obeyed, lifting herself shakily, the exquisite friction making her whimper. He hissed through his teeth, his knuckles white where he gripped her. "Easy, baby. Easy," he murmured when she started to drop too fast, halting her descent with the pressure of his hands. "Let it build. Control it." He guided her back down with agonizing slowness. "Perfect. God, you feel incredible."
She found a rhythm, tentative at first, rising and falling under his murmured encouragement, his hands sometimes steadying her, sometimes digging in as if to pull her closer still. His gaze never left her face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every wince of overwhelming sensation. "You're a natural," he rasped, his own hips lifting slightly to meet her downward stroke, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. "Look at you. Taking me so fucking good."
Her confidence surged, fueled by the raw desire in his eyes and the heat coiling tighter inside her. The deliberate pace began to quicken, almost imperceptibly at first. She rose higher, sank deeper, the slapping sound of skin on skin joining their ragged breaths. Colson groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, tendons straining in his neck. "Whit... ease up, angel. Need a sec," he choked out, his hands pressing firmly on her hips, forcing her to still, fully impaled. "Holy shit. You’re gonna wreck me."
She whined at the enforced pause, feeling him pulse thickly inside her, the fullness almost unbearable. Her inner muscles clenched involuntarily around him. "No stopping," she pleaded, rocking her hips minutely despite his hold. "Please, Colson."
He exhaled a shaky laugh, his eyes opening, blazing with need. "Alright, alright." His grip shifted, thumbs digging into the curve of her ass, urging her back into motion. "But no mercy now. Show me what you got." His permission ignited her. Whitney braced her hands on his chest, finding leverage, and began riding him in earnest. Up, down, faster, harder. Her dark hair whipped around her shoulders, sweat slicking the valley between her breasts. She threw her head back with a cry as the angle shifted, hitting a spot that sent white-hot pleasure searing through her.
Colson bucked beneath her, matching her frantic pace, his hands clamped on her hips like vices, guiding her, driving her down onto him with each powerful upward thrust. "Fuck, yes! Just like that! Ride me, baby! Take it!" His voice was a guttural growl, lost to the primal rhythm taking over. His control frayed visibly, the muscles in his arms and abdomen corded with tension, his gaze fixed on where their bodies joined, mesmerized by the slick glide, by her unrestrained abandon.
She was close, so close, the pressure building to a screaming peak, her movements becoming desperate, almost frenzied. Suddenly, a ragged roar tore from Colson’s throat. "Close! Whit...fuck!" In one fluid, powerful motion, he surged upwards. His hands locked around her waist, flipping her beneath him onto the cool sheets so fast the world blurred. Before she could gasp, he’d hooked his arms under her knees, pushing them high and wide, spreading her impossibly open.
His body covered hers, a solid, sweating weight. He drove into her with brutal, relentless force, each deep, piston-like thrust slamming her body up the mattress. "Mine!" he snarled, the word ripped from his chest. He pinned her hips down, eliminating any give, ensuring he hit that devastating spot with every plunge. The angle was ruthless, the penetration impossibly deep, stealing her breath. "Gonna come inside you. Gonna fill you up."
Whitney could only hold on, her fingers scrabbling at his back, her cries sharp and wordless as the relentless assault pushed her violently towards the edge. He was a force of nature, chasing his own climax with single-minded intensity, the bedframe rattling against the wall. His pace was punishing, unyielding, each powerful drive echoing the frantic drumbeat of his heart against her chest. The city lights streaked past in her blurred vision, the only sound the wet slap of skin, his harsh grunts, and her own high, keening moans as the pressure inside her shattered.
The world dissolved into pure sensation – the brutal snap of Colson’s hips, the deep, impossible stretch as he slammed into her, the raw scrape of the sheets against her back. Pleasure, sharp and blinding, detonated in her core, radiating outwards in convulsive waves that made her cry out, her voice breaking, her body clamping down on his invading length again and again. He roared above her, a guttural sound ripped from his chest, his thrusts becoming erratic, frantic, as her inner muscles milked him mercilessly.
He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep, holding himself there as his release tore through him. She felt the hot, thick pulses deep inside her, an intimate flood that drew a shaky gasp from her lips. His body shuddered against hers, muscles trembling with exertion, his panting breaths hot against her sweat-slicked neck. He collapsed partially onto her, his weight a warm, grounding anchor as the aftershocks rippled through them both. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the faint, persistent hum of the city far below.
Slowly, the intensity ebbed. Colson softened inside her but didn’t pull out. He shifted his weight to his elbows, cradling her face between his tattooed hands. His thumbs brushed away the damp strands of hair clinging to her temples, his dark eyes searching hers, filled with a dazed tenderness that contrasted sharply with the feral intensity moments before. "Jesus, Whitney," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "What you do to me..."
A lazy, sated warmth bloomed within her. She traced a faded tattoo on his bicep, the skin damp and cool now. "You weren’t exactly gentle, Mr. Baker," she murmured, a small, wry smile touching her lips despite the deep ache between her legs. Worship felt like a distant memory compared to the animalistic claiming that had just transpired. He chuckled, a low rumble she felt in her bones, and kissed her forehead. "Got carried away," he admitted, nuzzling her neck. "Couldn’t hold back. Needed you too much."
He shifted again, carefully withdrawing from her body. A slick rush of warmth followed, a visceral reminder of what they’d just shared. He gathered her against him, his strong arms enveloping her as they lay tangled in the damp sheets. Her body felt heavy, used, utterly satisfied. His fingers traced idle patterns on her bare shoulder, the silence comfortable, thick with shared exhaustion and intimacy. The city lights cast long shadows across the tangled sheets and their entwined limbs.
Her eyelids grew heavy, the frantic energy of the night finally draining away. She nestled closer against the solid wall of his chest, listening to the slowing thud of his heart. A deep, languid peace settled over her. The nervous bride was gone, replaced by a woman utterly claimed and cherished.
He stirred slightly, his hand sliding possessively down the curve of her spine, over the swell of her hip. His fingers dipped lower, tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh with a feather-light touch that reignited tiny sparks in her spent body. "Still perfect," he murmured sleepily against her hair, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Every damn inch." His touch grew bolder, drifting back towards her core, exploring the slick mess he’d made of her.
A soft moan escaped her as his fingers found her swollen clit, circling it with a knowing pressure that was instantly familiar, instantly overwhelming. "Colson..." she breathed, the protest weak. "I'm still...sensitive." But her hips lifted of their own accord, seeking more of that delicious friction. He chuckled, low and dark. "Just checkin' on my handiwork," he teased, his touch becoming deliberately provocative. "Gotta make sure I worshipped properly."
His fingers slid lower, delving into her, slick and easy now. He found the spot inside her that made her gasp, stroking it with relentless precision. The slow coiling began again, insidious and powerful, building far too quickly from the ashes of her last climax. "So responsive," he growled, his lips finding her ear, teeth grazing the lobe. "Can't help myself. Need to feel you come again." His pace quickened, fingers thrusting, thumb circling her clit. Her body arched, already surrendering to the relentless pull of sensation he orchestrated.
She felt herself spiraling, the pressure mounting impossibly fast. "Close..." she mumbled, her voice thick, dazed with renewed desire. "God, Colson, I'm close again..." Her fingers clawed at the sheets. But then, a sudden, sharp stab of clarity pierced the haze. She felt it – the sheer depth of his fingers inside her, mimicking the brutal penetration of before, pushing his cum deeper into her womb. Remembered the force, the lack of hesitation, the way he hadn't slowed, hadn't stopped.
The raw vulnerability hit her. The slick warmth between her thighs wasn't just arousal anymore. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through her pleasure. "No," she gasped, her eyes flying open wide. Her hand flew down, grabbing his wrist, trying to halt the relentless motion. "No, Colson, stop! BC... I'm not on BC!"
He froze. His fingers were still buried deep inside her. His head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto hers in the dim light. Not confusion. Not apology. A fierce, almost feral heat ignited in his gaze, his pupils dilating further. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He pushed his fingers deeper, deliberately. "You're not?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "That's fucking perfect, Whitney."
She felt his cock, already stirring again against her thigh, harden instantly. The thought of pregnancy, raw and unfiltered, seemed to electrify him. He withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers. Before she could process, he rolled her onto her stomach, the sheets rough against her skin. His weight settled heavily over her hips, his knees forcing her legs wide. He gripped himself, thick and swollen, pressing the broad, slick head against her entrance.
"No," she whispered again, pushing back weakly against his weight, the panic fluttering. "Colson, wait—"
He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, his voice thick with raw, primal possession. "Shhh. Too late for that, baby." He pressed forward, seating himself inside her with one powerful thrust that stole her breath, filling her impossibly deep again. "That's the point." His teeth sank possessively into the muscle of her shoulder as he began to move.