[The sudden push of three fingers leaves him full, breath falling from his lips on a stilted gasp. Even tired and worn to the threads of his limit, Cy’s touch is not refused. Even sore, achingly sensitive, his cunt clenches down onto that greater width of knuckles, unable to help the instinct. His head rests on Cy’s shoulder, eyelids flickering, color high on his face — composure ruined beneath this man’s hands.]

The world was cold without you. The days were gray and colorless. I had no warmth beside me, and I became aware of that the longer it lasted. I wondered if you had found another woman, someone more beautiful, that you preferred… I feared you wouldn’t return.

[And it is this use of another that is deliberate, an acknowledgement to the fantasy of the scene — secure in knowing it will not change Cy’s treatment of him once they leave it.]

And I felt empty. Here. [His hand slips down, touching Cy’s elbow and following a path to where the hand is submerged in water, using his palm to cover Cy’s knuckles where they penetrate him.] I wanted your cock inside me so badly it hurt. I wanted to feel your body holding me down. I wanted to feel the bruises of your strength, your ownership over me.

[Even though it makes him feel like glass, like he might break from any more pressure than this — he bucks hips forward, grinding the sore, tender nerves of his clit against the hard ridge of Cy’s palm underwater, feeling the piercing catch and rub.]

So I would do this… and imagine it was you instead, holding me still, filling me up. Coming inside of me.