These are romance story’s I write and if you enjoyed it please like comment and reblog it to show appreciation.
“It Changed Me” A Short Story
Fluffed pillows, smooth sheets, everything perfect. She’d spent an hour setting the room like a stage, like something sacred. The soft lighting reflected off the mirror across from her, where she stood in her robe—breath catching with every passing second.
His name on the screen. That voice—deep, steady, threaded with intention—sent a flutter through her chest and straight between her legs.
She barely remembered unlocking the door. Just that he was suddenly there, tall, broad, filling the frame with that quiet power he always carried. Salt-and-pepper at the edges of his beard, biceps stretching the sleeves of his dark shirt. Their eyes locked—and she felt it.
Something inside her melted.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. She grabbed his hand and pulled him in.
The door clicked shut behind them.
His hands were on her face immediately, rough palms anchoring her as his mouth claimed hers. Hot. Deep. Like he’d waited years for this kiss. His tongue parted her lips, and hers met it hungrily. She moaned into him, fingers fisting the front of his shirt.
He moved to her neck, kissing slowly—deliberately. She tilted her head, offering more. Every brush of his mouth left sparks on her skin. Her heart pounded like it might tear through her ribs.
She wore the lingerie just for him.
Black lace, soft mesh, hugging every curve. She had imagined how he’d look at her, but nothing prepared her for the heat in his eyes. That look told her she belonged to him tonight. Completely.
He cupped her breast through the lace, thumb brushing over her nipple as his mouth returned to hers, slower now, like tasting honey he never wanted to finish. One hand moved to her thigh, lifting it easily—his hips pressing against hers, the hard line of his arousal undeniable.
He noticed. Of course he did. His hand slipped lower, then behind her, cupping her ass, squeezing with purpose. Then his mouth descended—first to her collarbone, then lower still.
He kissed down her chest, tugged the lace cup aside with his teeth, and sucked gently. Her breath caught. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he worshipped her—slow, firm strokes of tongue and lips until her thighs trembled.
She bit her lip. Her eyes locked with his, and the moment burned with heat.
He whispered, “Is it for me?”
She swallowed, nodded, then found her voice. “Mhm.”
His fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties, dragging them down with reverence. As they passed her thighs, his mouth followed—kissing her slick heat like it was sacred.
She whimpered, her body already buzzing. And when his tongue slid between her folds—slow, searching, precise—her knees buckled. He held her in place, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue worked her with skill and hunger.
The pleasure came fast. A deep, dizzying climb.
When the orgasm hit, it wasn’t quiet. Her whole body shook, lips parted in a cry, hands gripping his shoulders. He kept going—licking, teasing—until she was begging, laughing breathlessly, lost in sensation.
Then he rose, hand slick from her, and brought his fingers to her lips. “Taste yourself.”
She did. Slowly. Deliberately.
She grabbed his shirt and peeled it off, dragging her nails across his chest, watching his muscles tighten. Then his belt, his pants—until he stood there, hard and full in front of her. Her eyes widened.
No words, just her tongue first—hot and soft, running along the length of him before she took him into her mouth. His hand gripped her hair. She loved the way he held her there—in control but savoring her submission.
“Just like that, baby,” he growled. “You know what you are? My sweet little princess… and my favorite f**king sin.”
She clung to his chest like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
Every thrust of his body sent shudders through her — hot, deep, consuming. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, ankles locked behind him as his hips worked with steady, punishing rhythm. The pressure inside her had built to a boiling point, and now every stroke was like lightning striking the same place again and again.
She could barely breathe.
He fit inside her like he was made for it — thick, hard, sliding in with perfect precision, her body answering him with waves of raw, aching pleasure. She buried her face in his neck, moaning openly as he kissed her — mouth hot, tongue insistent, claiming her lips with the same hunger he drove into her with below.
Her breasts were pressed against him, every nerve ending alive and screaming. His chest, damp and firm, rubbed against her nipples with each motion, stoking the fire. She trembled — thighs shaking, voice lost in the sound of their bodies colliding. Skin on skin. Breath on breath.
The orgasm ripped through her — full-body, unstoppable, pulling her under. Her vision blurred as she cried out, shaking beneath him, clutching his shoulders like she’d fall apart without him holding her together.
He slowed, only for a second. Watching. Feeling. Smirking.
She barely had time to recover before her body took over — another wave of pleasure bursting loose, and suddenly she was squirting. Hard. Out of control. Her thighs trembled and her breath caught as the release pulsed out of her.
He leaned in. Took it. Loved it.
His face buried itself between her legs, tongue sliding up through the wetness, drinking her in like she was made of something holy. She gasped — overwhelmed, overstimulated, but completely at his mercy. His hands gripped her hips as he went deeper, relentless, flicking and sucking as her body writhed beneath him.
She tasted herself on his lips when he kissed her again.
“You drive me insane,” he whispered into her mouth, voice thick with lust and reverence. “You were made for this. For me.”
She lay there—breathless, trembling, skin burning with heat—her thighs still slick, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest like it wanted to break free. And still, he wasn’t finished.
He rose above her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breath, eyes locked onto her with that look again—possessive, reverent, almost wild. The way he looked at her made her feel like a woman claimed, like nothing in the world existed but the two of them.
He stroked his cock slowly, towering over her with that same hunger that hadn’t dimmed even after watching her fall apart.
“You’re not done,” he said, his voice dark and certain. “You’re going to take all of me.”
She nodded, lips parted, legs falling open again—offering herself, needy and aching.
He lined himself up, and this time when he slid back inside her, it felt different—deeper, slower, more intense. Her walls hugged him, her body recognizing every inch of him like muscle memory. He filled her completely, and she gasped—because it didn’t just feel good.
His hands slid under her back, lifting her hips into him as he began to move again—hard, deliberate thrusts that made her arch and moan and cling to the sheets.
“You’re so deep,” she breathed, barely able to form the words.
“I know,” he growled. “You take me like you’re mine.”
His hands found her throat—not squeezing, just holding. Dominating. She moaned louder, opening her mouth for him again, needing to taste him, needing more.
He kissed her—hot, messy, tongue everywhere—and she kissed him back with the same fire, all inhibition gone. Her hips rose to meet his. Her nails dug into his back. Her whole body begged for more.
He fucked her hard. Not cruel, not careless—but like a man who couldn’t stand not being inside her. The bed creaked. Her cries grew louder. The tension built again—her legs trembling, her breath catching in sobs of pleasure.
Her orgasm hit so violently she screamed his name, her vision flashing white, her body shaking in waves. He stayed inside her, still moving, helping her ride the high—his voice in her ear, low and rough and praising her.
“That’s it… look at you. So perfect. All mine.”
A few more strokes—deep, tight, breath held—and he came with a growl, pulsing inside her, hips jerking against hers as he poured every last bit into her. His head dropped into the crook of her neck, breath hot against her skin.
They stayed like that. Tangled. Sweaty. His body on top of hers, heavy and warm. Her fingers moved slowly through his hair. Neither of them said anything at first.
Because there was nothing to say.
She didn’t feel used. She didn’t feel broken.
And she knew she’d never be the same again.
