It’s unreasonable. It’s probably dangerous. It’s also the most unbelievably exciting moment of my life. Not just sexual moment. I meananymoment. If I could take the way his fist feels in my hair and make it last forever, I would.
The last thing I expect when I thrash this time is for him to slap his hand on my pussy and grip the crotch of my shorts, using it to hold me in place, like a handle.
“Told you not to move,” he says, his voice nothing but a rasp in the night, though it’s as solidly threatening as the earth beneath my bruised ass.
Shit. Shit, what’s he going to do? Everything my brain comes up with—another slap between my legs, pinching my breasts, making me take him in my mouth—sends my libido rocketing higher, harder. I’m so turned on right now, I’m not sure it would take more than a couple quick swats like that to make me climax.
“What?” I gasp when he slowly twists the crotch of my shorts. “What are you gonna do?”
“I’d spank you…”
Oh God, yes. Please. Please spank me. Lay me over your knee and—
“But you’d like it too much.”
How does he know that? For the first time, something like fear crawls up my spine.
“Oh God,” I mutter aloud.
Another hard torque of my shorts sends air rushing against my sex, harsh and cold against my wet heat. The move’s crude, designed to hurt, maybe frighten, while it opens me up to the elements.
And I’ve still got the damn shorts on.
“You don’t come.”
I groan. “No. Please, that’s the one th—”
He slaps my half-bared pussy, stopping me mid-word. My body tries to curl up, but he’s stretching me out tight as a string. “I’ve never…”
Another slap sends my mind spiraling somewhere into the trees, not quite coming, but close. The fist tightens in my hair, his body shifts. “You’ve never what?” His whisper’s harsh and weird, like he’s more out of breath than I realized. Like I’m not the only one losing it here.
I hesitate, embarrassed for the first time since this thing started.
Another slap to my pussy makes me groan. “What?” he urges, so pissed off I’m almost scared.
At the same time, I want him to grind his palm against my clit, I want pressure. I want his cock.
I want to wrap my hands in his hair, too. Is it short? I think it’s short, but it’s impossible to tell with the mask. I want to feel how rough his cheeks are, let my hands circle his throat to gauge its girth, the way his Adam’s apple moves. He feels big—all of him. Heavy, strong, wide as a goddamn wall.
And I want to see the big cock that stretched me open last night, weigh it in my hand, taste it.
Instead, I hold still and force myself to answer. “I never orgasmed with a partner. Before last night.” And then, because this part seems important. “Beforeyou.”
He doesn’t respond right away, though I sense a change. Of course, that could always be my imagination. It’s had a lot of practice, after all.
“From penetration?”
“From anything. You’re my first.” He jerks, as if startled and I correct myself. “Doing this, I mean. Not…not sex.”
“Okay.”
A laugh rasps out from my lungs, low and broken apart, the way my voice always is when things get intense.
Slowly, while we whisper back and forth, his fingers slip past my shorts and the underwear he’s twisted into a rope, to spread me wide. It’s a slow, languid exploration and not at all what we’ve done thus far. It doesn’t feel wrong—far from it—but it’s different and I have the feeling it’s not what he’s here for.
I mean, none of this is exactly setting the scene for intimacy, physical or otherwise.
And yet… One thick knuckle glides easily between my lips, the sound so loud it’s sinful.
