“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he breathes, slowly sliding his finger in and out until I think I’ll scream with how badly I want him. I open my knees, pushing my hips up against his hand, whimpering for more.
“You like that, don’t you, my little wife?” he teases, pushing his finger deep and slowly circling it inside me. “Your cunt is so fucking hot, Eliza. I want to feel you milking my cock while I cum inside you.”
“I want that too,” I breathe. “Please. I’m so ready.”
He moves on top of me, pulling back to look down at my face, his eyes searching mine with concern and desire blurring the lines between us. Reaching down, he grips his cock, rubbing the head slow and hard through my wetness while his gaze stays locked on mine. Pleasure ripples through me, and I open my legs for him, giving myself over even though fear is still pumping through me with each heartbeat. He hurt me so badly last time. I keep telling myself I’m safe, that he won’t do that again.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his cock straining against my entrance.
I can only manage one word. “This.”
“I’m going to put it in,” he whispers. “I’ll be gentle. If it hurts or you need to stop, just say so.”
I nod, biting my lip. He pushes harder, and I wince as he breaches my entrance with the slow, steady pressure. He begins to sink deeper, and I gasp as I feel him straining against my walls, filling me until I think I’ll rip apart.
“You ready for the rest of it?” he asks.
No, I’m not ready. But I may never be ready, and if I don’t do it now, it’ll just get bigger and scarier in my head until I can never do it. And I want to. I want to give myself to him fully, with every part of myself. So I nod my head.
King pushes against the resistance inside me, then draws back when I gasp in pain. “What’s wrong?” he asks, a stitch pulling between his brows.
“You’re too big,” I whisper.
He pulls out and then enters me again, the thick head of his cock fitting right inside my entrance, stretching me. It feels so good I think I’ll explode. He grips his cock, pulling out and pushing just the tip back inside me. Groaning, he rubs his cock through my slippery folds the next time before sinking just a few inches inside. He watches as he begins to move, breaching my entrance again and again as he fucks just my opening until his cock is so slick it passes easily through the stretched flesh.
“Deeper,” I moan, rocking my hips.
“I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“Just do it. I need you to go hard, like you did last time.”
“I hurt you.”
“I don’t care. I need you inside me.”
With a growl, he guides his hips forward, his thick cock stretching me deeper, until I can’t hold back tears. I suck in a shaky breath, trying to blink them away before he sees. He pushes in to the hilt, his hips locked to mine, and rocks his pelvic bone against my clit while he rests on his elbows with his head hanging down beside mine, his breath hot and quick against my neck.
“You feel fucking amazing,” he whispers, kissing my neck, my ear. He doesn’t move, waiting for me to adjust, so I force myself to relax.
“Keep going,” I whisper. “I’m ready.”
He pushes in a few more times, slow and deep, until all I can do is remember the last time. My whole body rebels, as if we’re the wrong ends of magnets being forced together, and at the last second, I just can’t. The pain is still there, and oh god, the sensation fills me with paralyzing terror and dread, and tears begin to pour from my eyes.
“Eliza,” King says, sounding alarmed. He stops moving, using his hands to smooth back my hair. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”
“It’s fine,” I say, gripping his shoulders, wrapping my legs around him. “Just finish.”
“You’re crying.”
He says the words gently as he rolls away, as if that’s all the reason anyone needs to stop, as if what my body is showing is more important than what my mouth is saying. His strong, long arms wrap around me, and he holds me against him, and I can feel the hard, wet ridge of his cock pressing into my belly, and it makes me cry harder because I can’t satisfy it. I want to scream and scream and scream until I can’t breathe and can’t speak and can’t feel anything. He stopped, and I’m so angry at myself because I’m just. So. Broken.
He just holds me and doesn’t say anything. Not about how hard it must have been to stop, or how once again he wasn’t satisfied, or that his wife failed him yet again. He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead while shame and fury pour from my eyes. I know I’m safe. That’s the worst part. I know I am, but my body still reacts like I’m not, and I don’t know how to fix that.
At last, my tears run dry, but I can’t look up at King. This feels like the worst failure yet, confirmation of my worst fears—that I can’t have sex.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper at last.
King takes my tearstained face in his hands, raising it to his. He kisses my salty cheeks, my puffy eyes, my red nose. “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have known.”