My clit is swollen and pleasurably sore when he’s done. Our eyes catch in the dark, and his glint with satisfaction.
“Think you can keep going?” he teases.
He crawls next to me, propped on his elbow as his gaze scans my naked length. Tracing the outline of my breasts with a single fingertip, he draws an invisible line down the center of my stomach, through the middle of my left thigh, then along my damp slit before finishing at my mouth.
“Have you ever tasted yourself?” he asks.
“Never …”
Just when I think he’s about to slip his finger between my lips, he brings them to his own and tastes my arousal. “You’re really fucking sweet. In case you want to know.”
Before I can respond, his mouth fuses to mine, and suddenly I’m pinned beneath him, tasting my sweetness. It’s a power move. His tongue finds mine, turning our kiss into a molten liquid that drips straight through my center like warm honey.
Positioning himself on his knees, he spreads my thighs wider, taking in the view, before reaching for the foil packet and ripping it between his teeth.
My heart stops. I hold my breath. Squeeze my eyes.
“Look at me, Rose girl,” he says under his breath. When I open my eyes, he’s rolling the rubber over his veined erection. Leaning over me, he sweeps my hair from my face, deposits a hard kiss, and studies my face for a single endless moment. “This is going to hurt … but then it’ll feel good for you. I promise. So fucking good.”
Biting my swollen lip, I nod.
Positioning his cock at my entrance, he slides in the tip. It burns for a flash of a second, but I breathe through it.
“Oh, god …” He sighs, breathless, as he struggles to plunge his thickness into me.
I wriggle beneath him, a wordless urge for him to keep going, but he inserts another teasing inch, then another. And then, with one unexpected thrust, he’s deep inside of me. I bury my face in his shoulder, bearing the shooting pain in silence as his girth stretches me.
I feel him.
I feel him all.
Running my palms along his lower back, his taut steel muscles undulate beneath me as he drives himself into me harder, faster.
The initial shock of pain is long gone, replaced with slick heat and fiery ache that can only be extinguished by one thing …
In this cocoon beneath him, I gaze up at him, cupping his face as my hips answer his, thrust by thrust. It’s like we fit together perfectly. The way our bodies match up. And perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself, but maybe this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing?
I lift my lips closer to his, a silent plea for a kiss, but he turns his face.
Weird …
He fucks me deeper, harder. His skin slapping against mine. I give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a guy. This was a fantasy of his. He’s just really into it …
His long hair hangs in his face, partially obscuring his expression. I brush it aside and find his eyes closed tight. Cupping his cheek, I try to angle his face towards mine again, but instead he pulls out of me completely and flips me to my stomach.
Lifting my hips until I’m on all fours, he spreads my thighs and plunges into me from behind. Leaning over me, he grips a handful of hair and presses the side of my face into the pillow as he fucks me like a dog. Cold, mechanical, animalistic.
For whatever reason, the tenderness is gone.
The euphoric magic has faded into nothingness—as if someone snapped their fingers and made it disappear without any warning.
I remind myself this was never about tenderness in the first place—it was, is, and has only ever been about sex.
Hooking a hand around the front of my thighs, he rubs my clit while he continues to take me from behind. My body responds, growing hotter by the second, the tension building all over again. I’m getting close—and judging by the restrained grunts coming from behind me, so is he.
Little tremors turn into euphoric waves as he fucks me through my next orgasm, and the second I’m finished, he pulls out of me, snaps the rubber off, and cums all over the small of my back. Long, hot spurts.
When he’s finished, I lie on my stomach in this strange, euphoric aftermath, and he disappears into his en suite bathroom to clean up. When he returns, he says nothing. He simply changes into clean boxers and collapses on his bed, his forearm hooked over his eyes.
I slip into his bathroom to clean up, washing his drying, sticky seed off my back with a warm washcloth.
The tiniest trickle of blood slides down my inner thigh—my innocence leaving my body forever.
I clean that too.