I force myself to ease up and gentle my movements. It's her first time, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her in a way that leaves a scar. My fingers find her clit again, circling the sensitive nub with a gentle, steady pressure.
Her body arches off the bed, a desperate, pleading movement. She's so close. I can feel it in the way her body tenses, in the frantic, shallow gasps of her breath.
"Look at me," I command, my voice a low growl.
Her eyes flutter open, and the sheer, raw need in them is my undoing. Her pupils are open wide, the blue of her irises a thin, stormy ring around a black hole of desire. Her lips are parted, her cheeks flushed. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, desperate plea. "Please, sir."
"Come on my cock, Erica," I command, my thumb pressing down on her clit, my hips driving into her with a force that borders on punishing. "Only mine."
My words are the trigger. Her body convulses, her orgasm ripping through her. Her inner walls clamp down on me, a series of desperate, shuddering waves of pleasure that milk me, pulling me deeper, demanding my surrender.
I want to hold back, make it longer. I want to bring her up again and again, feeling her come over and over. But I don't want to take her too far the first time.
I lift myself with my hand pressing to the mattress next to her head and let loose. I thrust into her tight cunt, faster, deeper. Harder.
My own release builds, a hot, tight coil of pleasure low in my stomach. Her whimpers are my undoing. With a final, deep thrust, I bury myself deep inside her and come in a white-hot rush of pleasure that steals my breath and shatters my control. My body shudders as I release a hot, pulsing flood that marks her as mine, filling her with a part of me.
I collapse on top of her, my body spent, my breath ragged. My face is buried in the crook of her neck, my heart hammering against my ribs.
For a long moment, we lie there, a tangle of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. The only sound is our ragged breathing, the frantic beat of our hearts slowly returning to a more normal rhythm. A fine sheen of sweat slicks our skin, a musky, intoxicating scent fills the air—a mix of sex and something uniquely her.
Her body is limp beneath me, a warm, pliant weight. Her legs are still wrapped around my waist, her hands resting on my back. She's not fighting me anymore. She's not hiding.
She’s surrendered.
I push myself up, my arms braced on either side of her head. I look down at her, at the tangled mess of her blonde hair, at the tear tracks on her cheeks, at the dazed, sated look in her eyes.
She's a mess.
She's perfect.
And she's mine.
I slowly pull out, and a soft whimper escapes her lips at the loss. I can see the evidence of our coupling, a smear of red on my cock and on her thighs. A small, primal thrill goes through me. The blood is a brand. A mark of my possession.
A small sound escapes her, a whimper. I see her eyes flutter and blink slowly, taking in the sight between her legs. Her gaze is unfocused, confused. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, what's happened.
A blush spreads across her cheeks, a wave of pink that starts at her chest and creeps up her neck to stain her face. She’s suddenly, painfully aware of her nudity, of the sticky mess between her thighs, of my spent body still covering her.
She starts to shift, a subtle, uncomfortable movement. "I should..." she begins, her voice a hoarse whisper. But she doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't know what to say.
I see the shame warring with the pleasure in her eyes. She’s trying to make sense of it all, to process the overwhelming sensations, the sheer, raw intimacy of what we just did. I'm intimately familiar with that feeling.
I push myself up, my muscles protesting. She flinches as my weight shifts, her body tensing.
I ignore it.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. My limbs feel heavy, sated. I look down at her, still lying there, looking small and vulnerable in the big bed.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and uncertain.
"Stay here." It's gentle, but it's still an order. I don't look back. I can feel her gaze on my back like a physical weight as I walk toward the bathroom.
I need a moment. A breather. My control is a finely honed instrument, but she’s managed to fray the edges of it in a way no one has in years. Or ever, really. She’s gotten under my skin.
I grab a washcloth and take it to the sink, but just stand there and stare at my reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at me is harder than I remember. My eyes are dark, possessive.
