“That’s it.” His pace increases, brutal, devastating. “Play with yourself while I fuck you. Show me how you like it.”
I rub frantic circles over my clit, my whole body trembling on the edge. My arm is shaking from holding myself up, my wrist bent at an awkward angle, and the pistoning drive from his hips is relentless, making me slip. The pleasure is building so fast, I can barely breathe. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back, and the sting sends a bolt of electricity straight to my core.
“Come, darlin’,” he growls. “Right now. Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The orgasm detonates.
I scream his name, or at least try to, but it comes out broken, fractured, as wave after wave of pleasure tears through me. My inner walls clamp down on him, spasming, milking, and I hearhim swear viciously behind me. My fingers are still working my clit, drawing it out, and I can feel the contractions rippling through my entire body—thighs, stomach, places I didn’t know could clench.
“Fuck—fuck, so tight when you come?—”
He slams deep and goes rigid, a groan ripping from his chest. I feel him pulse inside me, hot and wet, filling me just like he promised. The sensation triggers another aftershock, my body clenching around him, drawing out every last drop. I can feel the warmth spreading inside me, the twitch of him as he empties himself, and something primal in me thrills at being marked this way.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then, he pulls out slowly, and I collapse onto the mattress, completely boneless. The sheets are cool against my overheated skin, and I can feel the mess of us between my thighs, his release already starting to leak out of me. I’m vaguely aware of him moving, leaving the bed, returning with something warm and damp. A washcloth, I realize, as he gently cleans between my thighs.
I hiss when the cloth touches tender flesh.
“Sore?” His voice is soft now.
“A bit,” I say, still breathless.
He moves the cloth again and pauses. “You’re bleeding a little.”
I knew I might. I thought maybe my past vibrator usage would have taken care of that, but this man’s cock thoroughly wrecked me. There’s something vulnerable about hearing him say it, though, about knowing my body is marked, changed, forever.
For good.
“It’s normal,” I manage. “For…for the first time.”
“I know,” he says with a soft, wry smile, the kind that tells me he’s had more than enough experience in that department but doesn’t want to tell me how many women he may have deflowered before me.
He finishes cleaning me with excruciating gentleness then tosses the cloth aside and gathers me into his impossibly strong arms. “I just wish I hadn’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” I curl against his chest, my head fitting perfectly under his chin. His skin is still damp with sweat, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my ear. “I mean—it hurt a bit at first, but the good kind.”
The kind that means something, I want to say, but I don’t want to sound like a sap, the kind of girl who gets overly attached after her V-card is taken.
“Still.” He presses a kiss to my hair, so tender, it makes my heart flutter against my ribs. “Next time, I’ll be more careful.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” I tilt my head up to look at him. “I don’t want careful. I want you exactly as you are.”
Something changes in his expression, something unguarded that makes my chest ache.
“You have me,” he says quietly. “God help you, but you have me.”
And that’s when I start to fuckingcry.
Not delicate, pretty tears, but ugly crying, the kind I haven’t done since I was a child. Sobs that rack my whole body, tears streaming down my face onto his chest. I’m horrified, mortified, but I can’t stop. I’m losing control. My shoulders are shaking, my nose is running, and I’m a pathetic mess of a girl.
“Hey, hey.” He shifts beneath me, hands cupping my face. “What’s wrong? Was it too much? Did I?—”
“No.” I shake my head, tears still falling, feeling stupid. “No, it’s not—you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what, darlin’? Talk to me.”
How do I explain it? How do I tell him I’ve spent fifteen years believing I would never have this? That every time I wanted someone, I had to push them away, because wanting meant killing and touching meant death? That I’ve spent more than half my life convinced I was a monster who could never be held, never be wanted, never be had?
