I lowered my lips to hers, kissing her with all of the passion coursing through my body in that moment. “You feel so fucking good,” I stated against her lips. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head. “N-no … Robert …” she called me, not knowing what she needed. Her hands went to my shoulders, pulling me into her. I knew what she needed. What we both needed.
I pulled halfway out of her before pushing back in.
“Oh!” she yelped, her back arching.
“Was that a scream of pleasure or pain?” I knew the answer already but needed to hear the words.
“Pl-pleasure,” she panted.
“Good.”
I pulled out, almost completely that time, and slowly pushed back in until our pelvises connected. I moved slowly before quickening my pace. My hands went to Deborah’s small waist as my hips took control, pistoning in and out of her body, causing the entire bunk bed to shake.
Deborah’s legs raised, circling my waist as I stared down at her. Our eyes never left one another’s. We were communicating with our bodies and our gazes. This woman, the same one I’d watched from afar for four years, was mine now.
“Robert!” she shouted as she came.
“Goddamn!” I moaned when her pussy muscles clamped down around my thrusting cock. Not long after her climax I was came furiously, harder than I’d ever come.
I grunted and convulsed, her pussy muscles milking every drop of semen from my loins. I spilled into the condom knowing one day that there would be no barrier between us and that Deborah Tate would eventually become Deborah Townsend.
Chapter Eight
Robert
“Tell me about your parents.”
Deborah lifted her head, giving me a quizzical look. We were still in bed, her closest to the wall, me on the outer edge. My arm was draped across her bare midsection, stroking her flat abdomen. Both naked as the day we were born. I was doing my best to refrain from taking her again. She’d be sore and I didn’t want to cause her too much discomfort her first night.
“My parents?”
“Yeah, the people who raised you. Mom and dad.”
She lowered her head back to my shoulder. “You first.”
I chuckled. I didn’t tell people about my parents. Most either thought they already knew everything there was to know given the status of my family’s name. While others worked to get whatever inside information they’d think I’d give so they could run back to their own social circles or business associates with all of the nitty gritty details. Fuck that and fuck them.
But this was Deborah. The woman who would one day be my wife. She might as well learn the truth straight from me.
“My father’s an asshole and my mother’s a weak-willed social climber who thought she lucked out when he asked her to marry him. Aside from that, they’re great.”
Deborah lifted her head, staring at me, looking deeply into my eyes. I tucked my arm under my head.
I didn’t shutter my gaze or close myself off from her like I did to the rest of the world. Like I’d learned to do from a very early age.
“He hit you.”
I nodded even though it wasn’t a question.
“Often,” I replied.
“Does he still?”
I shook my head. “By the time I reached sixteen, I was two inches taller than he was. He’s also slowed down and weakened from all of the extra weight he’s put on over the years. One night he went to hit me and I caught his arm, twisting it until it nearly broke. That was the last time he tried to hit me or my brother.”
“Jason, right? That’s your brother’s name.”
