She’s so fucking perfect. So beautiful with her legs spread that I can’t fucking think. Reason and logic are entirely lost to me. Lust and something else – something painful that feels a bit like pressing on a bruise – take their place.
I’m on the bed, on my hands and knees above her, before I even realize I’ve moved.
“What are you doing?” I demand. My lips brush hers when I say it. When did my face get so close?
Cristo santo, she smells so fucking good. The perfume of her hair and the bright tang of her pussy. I inhale deeply. My dick shudders in my pants.
“I was practicing,” she whispers. She tries to close her legs but can’t. Because I’m between them. “It’s not going to work!”
“What’s not going to work?”
“The…The consummation!” She gives a tremulous breath that makes me think she might be on the verge of tears. “I don’t think you’ll be able to do it!”
She doesn’t think I’ll be able to do it?
Swallowing a growl, I lower myself. I press the aching rod of my arousal against her bare pussy.
Holy fuck. I could literally come from this.
The gasp she gives at the pressure of me makes my balls tighten up. I feel her taut little nipples poking up against my chest.
“Not like that,” she whispers. I feel every word against my mouth. I part my lips, inhaling her breath. I want to fucking absorb her. “I know you can. I just…I think I can’t.”
“All you have to do is lie there.”
Unable to help myself, I rock myself slowly against her. Show her what I’ll do when the time comes. Show her that she doesn’t need to do shit-all when it comes down to it.
“I’m too tight,” she admits in a strained voice. “I can’t even do two fingers.”
Tight. My dick pulses painfully. Her tight, virgin pussy around me.
“It’s not going to be a problem.” My lips brush hers with more pressure this time. She gasps against my mouth. “I can prove it.”
“How-”
I interrupt her, not with words, but with my fingers brushing her cunt. She’s already moved her own hand out of the way, but it leaps back into place, clutching at mine.
“What’s happening?” she asks. Her chest heaves beneath me. Her eyes are huge. Frightened.
“I’m going to prove that you can fit me.”
I drag the pad of my middle finger along the seam of her cunt.
No wonder she wasn’t getting anywhere on her own.
“You’re not wet at all.”
“I don’t…I don’t know how to do that!”
“Oh, I think you do,” I say. “Or your body does, anyway.”
She was wet last night. I was aware of it for one twisted, glorious moment between sleep and wakefulness. I don’t know what the fuck I did to get her there.
But I know one way to speed things along.
I move lower on the bed until I’m balanced over her hips on my elbows. I stare at her hips, her thighs, the flawless fucking image of her pussy spread like this. She’s like a goddamn flower made of flesh, too goddamn perfect to be real.
But she is real. I can feel the quivering of her thighs. I can smell her here. My mouth waters the way it never fucking does for food. My throat constricts. My body, the whole putrid shape of it, is so rigid and tense that somebody could probably crack me down the middle with nothing more than the pressure of a feather.
