“Tell me,” he demanded, adding a second finger inside me, pushing deeper, hitting a spot that sent me spiraling. His mouth sucked me harder then, only adding to the intensity of my orgasm, making it go on forever.
I was still shaking, pleasure rushing through me when he disappeared from my body.
“Shaw,” I moaned his name, squirming where he left me on the bed, watching him in a daze as he shed his briefs and fumbled with his discarded jeans. I heard a slight crinkle of paper and he was back, settling between my thighs. There was a rip of paper and I knew he had a condom—that he was putting it on.
Still no panic. No urge to jump off the bed and run away. I wanted this. I wanted him. Unbelievable as it all seemed.
Then his mouth was on mine again and I arched up, my tongue parrying with his. The hard length of him slid along my wetness, not penetrating, just teasing against my opening. The friction tantalized me, and I lifted my hips, my breath in shallow pants. “Please. Please,” I begged.
“What, Emerson? What?” His dark eyes glinted down at me. “I won’t. I’m not moving a muscle until you say it. What do you want from me?”
“I want you.” My nails dug into the skin of his back.
“What do you want me to do? Say it.”
“Take me . . . f**k me.” I moistened my lips, something else running through my mind.
And like he knew that, like he could read my mind, his hand cupped my face. His mouth brushed my ear. “I’m going to do that, baby. But what else?” Goose bumps broke out across my skin at the hot fan of his breath against the whorls of my ear. “Say what else I’m going to do to you. You know.”
I knew what he wanted to hear. I remembered what he had promised to do to me.
“Make love to me.” Was that my voice? I didn’t even recognize the low purr. “I want you to make love to me . . .
He pulled back to smile, slow and wicked, at me, and a shiver rushed through me. “All right then.”
I felt him then. The head of him right there, his hardness easing inside me. It was surreal. My fingers clenched his biceps like I was clinging to a lifeline. My wide eyes flitted everywhere, seeing nothing, feeling everything, excited and alarmed at what was happening.
At what was finally happening.
“God, Emerson,” he groaned, dropping his head in the crook of my shoulder, his mouth moving against my sensitive flesh as he added, “You feel so good.”
His hands slid under my back, his fingers curling over my shoulders, anchoring me between his body and the bed, pulling me even closer, if possible.
And then he plunged, pushing deep inside me, tearing through the thin barrier of my virginity, seating himself to the hilt, his fingers tight on my shoulders.
“Oh!” I gasped at the sudden invasion, at the sharp pain. I felt stretched, full in a way I had never imagined possible. My muscles stretched to accommodate him, burning and throbbing around his hard length.
He stiffened over me, his head lifting off my shoulder. “Look at me.” I fixed my gaze on him. He smoothed a lock of hair from my forehead. His dark eyes gleamed with emotion . . . something that looked suspiciously like regret. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shook my head, unable to form words, too busy adjusting to him, processing everything. Like how he actually seemed to grow inside me. How my muscles clenched around him and that shot sensation to every nerve in my body. How could I explain anything at a time like this? Certainly not that I was a fake. A virgin. It was my secret. At least it had been. Now it was neither a secret nor true and I just wanted to move on to the obvious benefits of not being a virgin any longer.
I wiggled, testing out the feel of him in me.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Baby, don’t. When you do that, I just . . . don’t.” He started to withdraw and that slight movement made me moan. My hands flew to his ass, dragging him back inside me. That slight thrust made me gasp and arch under his body. “Don’t leave me.”
“Oh, Emerson, I couldn’t if I wanted to.” His bracketed arms trembled on either side of me. “But you probably shouldn’t move right now,” he hissed.
“I can’t.” I had to move. It was like something propelled me. It certainly wasn’t experience that had me lifting my h*ps up and down, seeking a repeat of the friction that I’d just experienced. With him over me, pinning me to the bed, I couldn’t move enough and I let out a sound of frustration, my nails clawing him.
His h*ps lifted then, pulling out almost completely. I whimpered at the drag of him against my aching flesh, clenching his firm ass, hoping this was it. He would finally move, finally satisfy my desperate hunger.
His c**k hovered at my entrance. I felt the top of him there, and it killed me. Small, animal-like sounds I didn’t even recognize escaped me. Finally, he thrust deep once again, his hands anchoring on my hips. There was no pain this time, just pleasure. “God, Emerson. You’re so perfect, so tight.”
He kept a steady pace then, slow and even, cautious, almost like he was worried that he would hurt me if he let go, if he went faster. The friction drove me wild. A pressure built at my center, coiling in my belly. My body demanded more, needed it harder.
I angled my hips, taking more of him inside me, following my instincts, searching for a way to bring him closer, deeper, to assuage that ache that only seemed to pulse and grow. “More,” I pleaded.
“Emerson,” he choked. “You don’t know. You’re so small—”
“I won’t break,” I growled. Lifting my head, I bit him, my teeth clamping down on his shoulder and it was like I flipped some invisible switch in him.
“Fuck!” He moved then, his big hands sliding under my bottom and lifting me higher, holding me off the bed, angling me in a way that changed everything. Stars blinded me as he slammed into me, hitting that magic spot buried inside me. I screamed his name, my spine arching, head dropping back on the bed as he did precisely what I asked. He took me. He f**ked me. He loved me. And I knew with a sense of shock that this was more than sex. He’d stamped himself not just on a canvas for me. He’d etched himself on me. Indelibly. He was under my skin. In my blood. A part of my soul.
I shuddered, coming apart. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as he joined me, pumping several more times until he shuddered and then stilled. I clutched him close, one hand buried in his hair, the other at his back.
I was still shaking, pleasure rushing through me when he disappeared from my body.
“Shaw,” I moaned his name, squirming where he left me on the bed, watching him in a daze as he shed his briefs and fumbled with his discarded jeans. I heard a slight crinkle of paper and he was back, settling between my thighs. There was a rip of paper and I knew he had a condom—that he was putting it on.
Still no panic. No urge to jump off the bed and run away. I wanted this. I wanted him. Unbelievable as it all seemed.
Then his mouth was on mine again and I arched up, my tongue parrying with his. The hard length of him slid along my wetness, not penetrating, just teasing against my opening. The friction tantalized me, and I lifted my hips, my breath in shallow pants. “Please. Please,” I begged.
“What, Emerson? What?” His dark eyes glinted down at me. “I won’t. I’m not moving a muscle until you say it. What do you want from me?”
“I want you.” My nails dug into the skin of his back.
“What do you want me to do? Say it.”
“Take me . . . f**k me.” I moistened my lips, something else running through my mind.
And like he knew that, like he could read my mind, his hand cupped my face. His mouth brushed my ear. “I’m going to do that, baby. But what else?” Goose bumps broke out across my skin at the hot fan of his breath against the whorls of my ear. “Say what else I’m going to do to you. You know.”
I knew what he wanted to hear. I remembered what he had promised to do to me.
“Make love to me.” Was that my voice? I didn’t even recognize the low purr. “I want you to make love to me . . .
He pulled back to smile, slow and wicked, at me, and a shiver rushed through me. “All right then.”
I felt him then. The head of him right there, his hardness easing inside me. It was surreal. My fingers clenched his biceps like I was clinging to a lifeline. My wide eyes flitted everywhere, seeing nothing, feeling everything, excited and alarmed at what was happening.
At what was finally happening.
“God, Emerson,” he groaned, dropping his head in the crook of my shoulder, his mouth moving against my sensitive flesh as he added, “You feel so good.”
His hands slid under my back, his fingers curling over my shoulders, anchoring me between his body and the bed, pulling me even closer, if possible.
And then he plunged, pushing deep inside me, tearing through the thin barrier of my virginity, seating himself to the hilt, his fingers tight on my shoulders.
“Oh!” I gasped at the sudden invasion, at the sharp pain. I felt stretched, full in a way I had never imagined possible. My muscles stretched to accommodate him, burning and throbbing around his hard length.
He stiffened over me, his head lifting off my shoulder. “Look at me.” I fixed my gaze on him. He smoothed a lock of hair from my forehead. His dark eyes gleamed with emotion . . . something that looked suspiciously like regret. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shook my head, unable to form words, too busy adjusting to him, processing everything. Like how he actually seemed to grow inside me. How my muscles clenched around him and that shot sensation to every nerve in my body. How could I explain anything at a time like this? Certainly not that I was a fake. A virgin. It was my secret. At least it had been. Now it was neither a secret nor true and I just wanted to move on to the obvious benefits of not being a virgin any longer.
I wiggled, testing out the feel of him in me.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Baby, don’t. When you do that, I just . . . don’t.” He started to withdraw and that slight movement made me moan. My hands flew to his ass, dragging him back inside me. That slight thrust made me gasp and arch under his body. “Don’t leave me.”
“Oh, Emerson, I couldn’t if I wanted to.” His bracketed arms trembled on either side of me. “But you probably shouldn’t move right now,” he hissed.
“I can’t.” I had to move. It was like something propelled me. It certainly wasn’t experience that had me lifting my h*ps up and down, seeking a repeat of the friction that I’d just experienced. With him over me, pinning me to the bed, I couldn’t move enough and I let out a sound of frustration, my nails clawing him.
His h*ps lifted then, pulling out almost completely. I whimpered at the drag of him against my aching flesh, clenching his firm ass, hoping this was it. He would finally move, finally satisfy my desperate hunger.
His c**k hovered at my entrance. I felt the top of him there, and it killed me. Small, animal-like sounds I didn’t even recognize escaped me. Finally, he thrust deep once again, his hands anchoring on my hips. There was no pain this time, just pleasure. “God, Emerson. You’re so perfect, so tight.”
He kept a steady pace then, slow and even, cautious, almost like he was worried that he would hurt me if he let go, if he went faster. The friction drove me wild. A pressure built at my center, coiling in my belly. My body demanded more, needed it harder.
I angled my hips, taking more of him inside me, following my instincts, searching for a way to bring him closer, deeper, to assuage that ache that only seemed to pulse and grow. “More,” I pleaded.
“Emerson,” he choked. “You don’t know. You’re so small—”
“I won’t break,” I growled. Lifting my head, I bit him, my teeth clamping down on his shoulder and it was like I flipped some invisible switch in him.
“Fuck!” He moved then, his big hands sliding under my bottom and lifting me higher, holding me off the bed, angling me in a way that changed everything. Stars blinded me as he slammed into me, hitting that magic spot buried inside me. I screamed his name, my spine arching, head dropping back on the bed as he did precisely what I asked. He took me. He f**ked me. He loved me. And I knew with a sense of shock that this was more than sex. He’d stamped himself not just on a canvas for me. He’d etched himself on me. Indelibly. He was under my skin. In my blood. A part of my soul.
I shuddered, coming apart. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as he joined me, pumping several more times until he shuddered and then stilled. I clutched him close, one hand buried in his hair, the other at his back.
