There was a moment—a very specific, silent moment—when Rae felt the full gravity of what was happening. She was inside him. Her body hovered, her thighs quivering slightly, the soft candlelight painting Peter’s skin with warmth, her hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. But more than that, he was letting her in—not just physically, but emotionally. Completely. Willingly.
With every tender thrust, she gave. With every breathy exhale from Peter’s lips, he received.
And it wasn’t transactional. This wasn’t some kinky scorecard or game of reversal. It was connection in its rawest, most fascinating form. Rae’s eyes locked on his, and she stayed there, hips rolling, hand gently resting on his chest. His eyes were open, barely, and glassy with sensation. Vulnerable. Receptive. Glowing.
She was in control—fully, undeniably in control—and Peter didn’t shrink beneath that power. He thrived under it.
“Breathe, love,” she whispered, her voice steady, warm. “Deep breaths. Feel it.”
He nodded, shakily at first, then more confidently. His discomfort was melting, softening into something new. His brow relaxed, and what began as a foreign, invasive sensation slowly transformed into… pleasure. Rae watched it happen. It was a beautiful transition. He wasn’t just tolerating it—he was letting it in.…
