Chapter 221: Chapter 221 Not Wasting It
Elara
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dominic’s voice was gentle.
The bathroom is warm and full of steam.
He steps us both under the spray and I watch the evidence of what we just did swirl down the drain.
His fingers find their way between my legs again. “Let me help.”
“Dominic...”
“I said I’d take care of you.”
He doesn’t just wash me.
He parts me open with two fingers first, slow, like he’s checking how swollen I am.
Then he slides in, scooping out what he put in. I watch it swirl down the drain in a white curl.
But he doesn’t stop there.
He stays inside, curling his fingers against that spot, pressing deep like he’s feeling the shape of where he was.
I gasp and my knees buckle. “Shit—Dominic—”
He catches me with his other arm. “I got you.”
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Taking all of me like that.”
I can’t answer.
His fingers are still moving inside me, slow and deep, and I’m so sensitive that every curl makes my thighs tremble.
I just lean into him and let out a shaky breath.
“You know what I’m gonna do,” he says, “when you’re pregnant?”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out thin. “What?”
“Your tits are gonna get fuller. And when I suck ’em, you’re gonna taste sweet.” His hand slides down to my stomach. “And I’m gonna fuck you while you’re carrying my pup. I’m gonna bend you over the counter and slide right in, put another one in you while the first one’s still growing.”
By the time he finishes, I’m trembling. “Fuck, Dominic.”
He feels it. Smiles against my neck. “Want more?”
I don’t answer with words. I turn around and press my palms flat against the tile, arching my back. My ass brushes against his hips. I look back at him over my shoulder. “What do you think?”
His eyes go dark.
He grabs my hip with one hand, lines himself up with the other, and pushes in one hard, smooth stroke. I’m so open, so ready, that there’s no resistance at all. He bottoms out and I feel it in my throat.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Still so tight. Even after all that.”
He pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in. The sound echoes off the tile. Wet. Loud. Primal.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Right there.”
He sets a rhythm immediately. Hard and fast, his hips slapping against my ass, the water streaming over both of us.
My palms slide on the tile. He grabs my wrist and pins it against the wall, keeping me in place.
The tile is cold against my cheek, the water hot on my back.
He’s everywhere. Inside me. Behind me.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Every thrust pushes the air out of my lungs. “Dominic—I’m—”
“I know.” His voice is wrecked. “Me too.”
He drives into me harder, deeper, and that’s all it takes.
I come again. I lose count. I just feel.
He comes with a growl, pressing deep and staying there. Hot liquid fills me again, and he shifts like he’s about to pull out.
Then he stops.
He moves his hips just enough to drag against my walls, slow and deliberate, and I gasp. My body clenches around him instinctively.
"Oh," he says, voice dropping low. "Feel that? You’re holding me in."
I do. I feel it. Every muscle inside me gripping him like I don’t want him to leave. I try to relax, to let go, but my body won’t listen.
He does it again. A tiny pull, barely an inch, and my body pulls him right back.
"Tight," he murmurs, like he’s testing the word. "So tight I can barely move."
"I can’t—" My voice comes out broken. "I’m trying to—"
"Don’t." His mouth brushes my ear. "Don’t try. I like it."
My thighs tremble against his hips. Every tiny shift sends sparks through me. I dig my nails into his back and hold on.
"I like it," he says, low against my ear. "Feels like your body doesn’t want me to leave."
A sound escapes my throat. Not a word. Just a breathy, broken thing that I can’t control.
He doesn’t try to pull out again. He just stays there, buried deep, letting me feel every pulse of him inside me.
“Not letting it go to waste.”
He carries me back, still buried.
Water drips off us, trailing across the floor.
Each step makes him shift inside me, a slow drag against walls that are still fluttering from the last orgasm.
He takes another angle and hits that spot again, the one that makes my toes curl.
I bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.
He lays me down slow, keeping himself buried.
I feel so full, so stretched, like my body is still trying to accommodate everything he gave me.
The sensation is warm and heavy, pressing against my insides from the inside out.
He doesn’t pull out. He just stays there.
His thumb presses into my lower belly, right above where he’s buried. I feel the pressure from the outside pushing against the fullness on the inside. A deep, heavy presence. Him, from every angle.
“Now you’re full,” he says. His hand rests on my stomach.
I can feel it, slightly rounded with everything he’s put inside me.
“Look. You already look pregnant.”
“Maybe it worked,” I whisper.
“Maybe.” He kisses my shoulder. “And if not, we try again.”
“Making it sound like a chore.”
He laughs. “Best chore I ever had.”
I don’t answer. I just lie there, feeling him inside me.
The snow keeps falling. The room is warm.
And for now, that’s enough.
