The honeymoon suite smelled of jasmine and melted wax. Forty candles flickered across every surface—on the dresser, the nightstands, the deep windowsill overlooking the black ocean—casting long, liquid shadows that danced over Lila’s bare skin as she lay facedown across the king bed.
She had confessed two nights earlier, after too much champagne and the kind of post-dinner sex that left them both sweaty and laughing against the balcony railing. The words had tumbled out in a rush, half-mumbled against Ryan’s throat: “I’ve never… but I think about it. A lot. Being opened there. Taken there. By you.” Her cheeks had burned even in the dark. Ryan hadn’t laughed or flinched. He’d only kissed her temple, slow and deliberate, and whispered, “Then we’ll go slow. And you’ll tell me everything you feel.”
Now the fourth night of their honeymoon, the air felt heavier, charged. Lila’s pulse hammered in her wrists, her throat, between her legs. She wore nothing but the thin gold anklet he’d slipped on her that morning; Ryan still had his black boxer-briefs on, the fabric stretched taut over the thick ridge of his erection. He knelt beside her on the mattress, a small glass bottle of warm oil in his palm.
“Still yes?” he asked, voice low.
Lila turned her head so her cheek rested on the cool sheet. “Still yes.”
He poured a slow, amber ribbon of oil between her shoulder blades first, letting it pool in the dip of her spine before his hands followed. Broad, warm palms glided down her back in long, unhurried strokes, kneading the tension from her muscles until she sighed and her thighs parted a fraction on their own. He worked lower, thumbs tracing the twin dimples above her ass, then cupping the cheeks and spreading them gently, reverently.
When the first drop of oil slid into the cleft she gasped—more from anticipation than temperature. Ryan caught it with a fingertip, circling her tight, untouched ring with the lightest pressure, not pushing, just painting slick heat over the sensitive skin. Round and round. Slow. Hypnotic.
“God,” she breathed. “That already feels…”
“Tell me.”
“Dirty. Good. Like I’m blushing everywhere.”
He smiled—she could hear it in his voice. “You are.”
Another drizzle of oil, warmer this time because he’d held the bottle against his chest. He let it run down her crack, watching it glisten in the candlelight before he followed with two fingers, spreading her wider. The pad of his middle finger pressed flat against her hole, not entering, just resting there while his other hand stroked the small of her back in soothing arcs.
“Breathe for me, baby.”
She did—deep, shaky inhales that lifted her ribs, long exhales that relaxed the instinctive clench. On the next exhale he increased the pressure, just enough that the tip of his finger slipped past the first ring of muscle. Lila’s breath hitched; her fingers curled into the sheets.
“Still good?” he murmured.
“More than good. Strange… full already and it’s barely anything.”
He stayed there, letting her adjust to the single fingertip, then withdrew and returned with more oil and a second finger. This time he pressed both in together, slow, watching her spine arch and her hips lift toward him almost involuntarily. When the second knuckle passed the tight ring she moaned—low, broken, nothing like the sounds she usually made.
Ryan leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re so fucking tight. Look at you, taking me like this.”
The praise made her clench; he groaned at the sudden grip. He began small, shallow thrusts—barely an inch in and out—coating her insides with slick heat until the slide felt easier, wetter, obscene. Lila’s thighs trembled. She pushed back, greedy now.
“More,” she whispered. “Please.”
He added a third finger on the next pass. The stretch burned sweetly; she hissed, then moaned when he curled them, stroking the thin wall that separated his fingers from the spot inside her pussy that always made her see stars. Her hips rocked in helpless little circles. Oil and her own arousal dripped down her thighs.
“I need—” Her voice cracked. “I need you inside me. Please, Ryan. I want to feel you come in there.”
He withdrew his fingers slowly, watching her hole flutter and wink at the sudden emptiness. The sight made him curse under his breath. He shed his briefs, cock springing free—thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He coated himself generously with the same warm oil, stroking once, twice, until he glistened.
“On your knees, sweetheart. Chest down, ass up. Let me see you.”
Lila obeyed, knees spread wide, back arched, face turned to the side so she could watch him in the mirror across the room. The candlelight turned her skin gold and shadow. Ryan knelt behind her, one hand braced on her hip, the other guiding his cock to her entrance.
The blunt head pressed against her oiled ring. He didn’t push—just held the pressure steady while his thumb rubbed soothing circles over her clit.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “You control the pace.”
She exhaled, long and slow, and pushed back.
The head popped past the first resistance with a soft, wet sound. Lila cried out—sharp, startled pleasure-pain. Ryan froze, every muscle locked, giving her time. Her breath came in ragged pants; tears pricked her eyes, not from hurt but from the overwhelming fullness, the taboo intimacy of it.
“Okay?” he rasped.
“God yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Inch by torturous inch he fed himself deeper. She felt every ridge, every vein, the way her body fought and then yielded. When his hips finally pressed flush against her ass she sobbed once—a raw, grateful sound—and reached back to grab his wrist, anchoring herself.
He was buried to the hilt. Completely inside her ass.
For a long moment neither of them moved. They simply breathed together, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat through the thin wall that separated them, the fluttering spasms of her body trying to adjust to the impossible stretch.
Then Lila rolled her hips in a tiny, testing circle.
Ryan groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck, baby. You feel—”
She did it again, bigger this time. The friction was exquisite, almost too much. She reached beneath herself, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing fast little circles the way she did when she was alone and thinking of exactly this.
That was the signal.
He drew back—slow, so slow—until only the head remained inside, then slid forward again in one smooth, deep glide. Lila’s moan was throaty, animal. He did it again. And again. Each withdrawal and return a little faster, a little harder, until the rhythm caught and the slap of skin on skin filled the room.
She was loud now—shameless, desperate cries every time he bottomed out. Her fingers flew over her clit; her other hand clawed the sheets. The pleasure-pain line blurred until there was only heat, only fullness, only the slick drag of his cock claiming her most forbidden place.
“Harder,” she gasped. “Fuck me harder.”
He obeyed. His grip on her hips turned bruising; his thrusts turned punishing in the best way—deep, relentless, owning. The bed creaked. Candles flickered wildly. Lila’s moans became wordless, rising in pitch until she was nearly screaming.
“I’m—oh god—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he growled. “Come on my cock while I’m buried in your tight little ass.”
The command tipped her over. Her whole body seized—back bowing, thighs shaking, fingers grinding frantically against her clit. The orgasm ripped through her like lightning; her ass clamped down hard, rhythmic pulses milking him, pulling him impossibly deeper.
Ryan’s control snapped. Three more brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the root, hips jerking as he came with a guttural groan. Hot spurts flooded her, so deep she swore she could feel each pulse against her spine. They shuddered together, locked, trembling, riding the aftershocks until the last weak clench of her body drew one final spurt from him.
He collapsed over her back, careful not to crush her, lips pressed to her shoulder blade. Their breathing was ragged, synchronized. Sweat and oil and come mingled between them.
After a long minute he kissed the nape of her neck. “You okay?”
Lila laughed—shaky, blissful. “I’m… ruined. In the best way.”
He eased out slowly, both of them hissing at the sensation. When he was free she rolled onto her back, legs still trembling, and pulled him down for a slow, filthy kiss that tasted like salt and satisfaction.
“Next time,” she murmured against his mouth, “I want to ride you. So I can control how deep you go.”
Ryan’s cock—still half-hard—twitched against her thigh.
“Next time,” he promised, already reaching for the oil again, “we’ll do whatever you want.”
The candles burned lower. Outside, the ocean whispered. Inside, they were only beginning.
