He fills me up perfectly, his cock stimulating every single pleasure zone. The head of his cock rubs against that sensitive place deep inside of me, his girth stimulates all around my opening. And my clit grinds against his hard, flat belly with exactly the right amount of pressure.

He braces himself with bent arms on either side of my head, and he looks directly down into my face.

I look up at him, thinking how unusual it is for a man to be so handsome up close. Most people are better viewed from a distance. That’s why we close our eyes when we kiss.

Not Raylan. With his face only a few inches from mine, I see the clarity and brilliance of his eyes. They’re a vivid and electric blue, crackling with energy. His irises are encircled by a ring of deep black, the same color as his hair. That ink-black hair looks enticingly thick and soft, so much that I have to reach up and run my fingers through it, marveling how it feels like ermine, vibrant and alive, like every other part of Raylan.

I can’t stop touching him. I trail my fingers down the side of his face, where his thick, prickly stubble is already growing back. I like the way it outlines his lips and jaw, giving him a roguish, wicked look.

Then I touch his shoulders and chest, straining with the effort of holding himself up on the soft bed, and the exertion of slowly thrusting in and out of me.

He has a large tattoo on his right shoulder, shaped like a shield. Inside the shield is a kneeling knight, holding a sword. The background of the shield is a night sky, speckled with stars and a crescent moon. I know it must be from his mercenary company, The Black Knights. I bet all his brothers-in-arms have the same mark.

I’ve seen mercenary tattoos before—skulls, daggers, snakes, and guns, usually.

It strikes me that the Black Knights chose something quite different as their sigil—a kneeling man, in a penitent pose. It’s not aggressive or violent. Instead it seems to indicate chivalry, and honor.

Raylan is a good man.

He’s been good to me.

He’s protected me. He brought me to his own home to keep me safe.

I look up into his face and I DO feel safe. I feel cared for.

These are not sensations that come easily to me. Sometimes I struggle to feel that way even with my own family.

But Raylan isn’t obligated to care about me, like family is. If he likes me, if he protects me . . . it’s simply because he wants to. It’s real and genuine.

I can feel my climax building—it’s been building steadily since he was eating me out, but now it’s at the very top of a very high peak. And I’m about to go plummeting down.

And for the first time in my life, I look right in a man’s eyes while I cum. It’s not awkward, or distracting. Instead, the eye contact amplifies the sensation a hundredfold. It takes sexual pleasure and pairs it with gratitude, admiration, and adoration. It stitches together sensation and emotion into one explosive climax. Instead of crying out, I make a sound almost like a sob.