“I want to fuck you,” he admits gruffly, evading my attempts to stop him. “But I don’t want to hump a sex doll. Just relax…”
My breath hitches as I realize what he’s doing. Stroking. The pad of his thumb is calloused, catching at tender flesh with every swipe. It feels…
I shake my head, resisting the urge to describe it. I want mindless oblivion. The opposite of what it felt like when Colton insisted on kissing me.
“Stop thinking,” Daze scolds as if reading my mind again. He crooks his finger, sowing more friction with every stroke. “Good… Let yourself feel.”
Feel. My thoughts dissipate, and I have to look down to realize what he’s done—eased one of his fingers inside me. Out. Inside. Deeper.
My cheeks burn at the image. His hand, my skin. My eyes water. It’s the most vulgar sight I’ve ever seen, etched in my memory more than any drug-fueled bender.
I can’t tell if it’s a good feeling or bad.
But I don’t fight it either.
“Good girl,” Daze grunts when I fall silent. “I won’t hurt you. You can trust that I at least know how to fuck.”
Fuck. It should be mindless. Grunting and thrusting. Sharp pain. Panting.
Then nothing. And shame. And loathing. Self-hate. And…
I can’t remember. I can’t think at all anymore. His voice slithers into my head, drowning out everything else.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hisses.
Is that a good thing? Bad thing?
Very bad,I realize as warmth brushes my shoulder. His mouth?
“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” he breathes against my ear.
I can’t even get the answer out.Yes.
Another finger—two inside me at once. It hurts. Should it? My flesh stings, stretched beyond reason, and I flinch, squirming against the intrusion.
“Easy, baby.” He sucks in a breath, and his touch softens. “Hell, you’retootight—”
I whimper.
“I gotta get you ready for me, or this won’t work—”
“Okay,” I manage to croak.
I can’t tell if he hears me or not. I’m too busy registering how he feels. Different from the horror stories I’ve been told. I don’t feel ruined. I feel…full. Those cigarettes must have been laced with something stronger than nicotine. My head is spinning, thoughts dissipating.
And then his figures curl and…
“God!” My entire body jolts against him. I see stars, and it’s too much. I buck away as he aims for the same spot again. “Too much—”
“You need to come at least once,” he warns—but he doesn’t make it sound romantic and mythical like most men do. Not a gift but a necessity. “I’ve got you.”
He’s closer than before. A mass of solid heat throbs against my hip.
“I need you wet,” he says thickly as if reading my mind. “Trust me.”
Trust. But that’s a drug beyond even my expertise. All I can do is lean against the surface supporting me, and breathe. I can’t even begin to describe what he does with his fingers. Pushes, pulls, takes. Harder. Harsher.
“So much for that smart fucking mouth,” Daze rasps against my ear. A taunt? “Come on, Freylie. Move those lips. Tell me how to get you off. Isthisthe spot?”