Even if I climax right now, I’ll be hard again in a few minutes. Just remembering how tight she is, the soft cries as I hit deeper and deeper inside her. The curl of her useless fists under my hand. The buck of her hips.
I want to spill my seed inside her, let her belly grow fat with my child. Rid myself of the fear I felt in jail, the fear that my future was lost, everything I’d spent years building was gone. That my rivals would tear my business apart and I’d be locked away until I was an old man; unable to rebuild, unable to have a family. Loved by no one and worth nothing.
What the fuck are you doing?
The thought hits me harder than a slap and I jerk back, my eyes tracing the line of Crimson’s clenched jaw.
I’m hurting her, I must be hurting her.
Then her legs move, knees bending to let her ankles lock behind me, drawing me deeper inside her until I’m lost again. I release her wrists, setting her free of my imprisonment. She puts one hand around my neck, the other reaching down to brush against my hip.
The touch ignites a surge of guilt inside me. “Sorry,” I whisper against her neck, “I’m being too rough.”
Her hand moves from my hip, trailing fingers up my back until both hands cup my head, pulling me forward while she finally turns back to face me, opening her mouth, pressing it to mine.
The welcome amid my self-recrimination undoes me. I thrust my hips twice more, pumping my release into the tight caress of her body, groaning at the exquisite feeling of her warmth before I collapse on top of her.
I close my eyes as I roll to the side, unable to look at her, afraid to see the harm I’ve done.
But Crimson turns towards me, angling her body until it touches against mine. It feels natural to stretch out my arm and scoop her closer. To stroke her back as if that can ease away me forcing myself on her, inside her.
“Was that…?” she falters, and I force myself to crack open one eyelid. Not treating her with the care she deserved was cruel enough, I at least owe her the courtesy of being present while she deals with the aftermath. “Was I okay?”
And both my arms are now around her, hugging her close. “You were fantastic. I didn’t—” My words cut off as my mouth floods with saliva and I stop to swallow. I pull back to gaze into her face, my top arm unlocking from around her back and moving to stroke the side of her jaw. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Not your first time.”
Her eyes are large, curious, searching my face for clues. “But… doesn’t it always hurt the first time?”
“I guess.” After smoothing the hair away from her forehead, I let my hand travel farther down to rest against the curve of her neck. “I meant to go slower, treat you with more care. I should’ve waited until you were ready.”
She looks lost, biting her lip as her eyes move away from mine to linger on my chest. Her hand reaches out, tentative as a mouse as she brushes across my skin with her fingertips. They alight on a scar on my left side, just shy of my collarbone, then leave it to trace the outline of my first tattoo. A dove for some reason lost to the fog of teenage hormones and time.
The longer she explores, the more confident her touch becomes. “Does that mean it’ll feel better than this, next time?”
Next time? I can’t believe she isn’t shoving me away and running out the door, desperate to get as far from me as possible.
I manoeuvre my head so I can lay a trail of kisses from her shoulder up along the curve of her neck. When I get to her ear, I pull the lobe into my mouth, sucking gently. Everything is the wrong way around. I should have led with these tender kisses. That she’s still laying beside me is a strange warp of expectation and her extremely poor judgement.
“Every time should feel better than the last, as we get used to each other’s bodies and what we like.” I kiss the corner of her mouth where it curves into the world’s tiniest smile. “Otherwise, we’re not doing it right.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine again and she wrinkles her nose, trying on a smile and discarding it for one in a larger size. “And will the small talk feel less awkward afterwards?”
I laugh, bringing her close enough to kiss again. “Sure. I promise far less awkwardness.” I take my arm out from under her and prop myself on my elbow to get a better view of her before raising my fingers in a tiny salute. “Scout’s honour.”
My smile drops as I see the streaks of blood on my fingertips. When I glance down, there are tinges of red on my cock, and under her. Not a lot but enough to stain the white spread.
Crimson’s eyes follow mine and she blinks three times, quickly, her forehead scrunching with concern.
“Stay still,” I tell her, getting off the bed. “I’ll fetch a cloth.”
I run it under warm water, then come back, carefully wiping her clean, one eye on her face to make sure I’m not hurting her any further. Once I’m done, I give myself a quick scrub.
The stain on the bedclothes will have to wait.
“Did I make a mess?” she asks in a tight voice after I toss the washcloth in the sink and return to her side.
“You didn’t do anything. It was me.” I pull her back into an embrace, holding her so tightly I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. “You were perfect.”
Her body softens, relaxes into mine. “I should take a photo.”
