“Stay,” I tell her. I let go of her wrists. She remarkably does as she’s told.
Hands on her cheeks, I splay her open, look at her. At her tiny asshole, the open lips of her pussy.
She tries to clench her cheeks, but I keep her open.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Your pussy open and wet for me. Your asshole so tempting.” I touch my thumb to her asshole and she clenches.
“Cristiano—”
But her breath catches as I crouch down and extend the tip of my tongue to her clit and lick all the way up through her wet folds to her other hole, laying the flat of my tongue on her as I repeat downward then back again, tasting her, wanting her. Wanting every fucking part of her.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, and I draw back to watch a slow trickle of arousal slide down her inner thigh.
“Fucking perfect,” I tell her, standing. “Stay.”
She does and turns just her head to watch me strip off the rest of my clothes. She licks her lips when I take my cock into my hand and run it through her folds. Her eyes close as I smear her wetness over myself.
“So fucking perfect.” I lean down for one more taste before tugging her to stand, spinning her to face me and kissing her hard.
She doesn’t bite but I wouldn’t care if she did right now. I want this. And she wants this. And neither of us can deny it.
I lay her on the bed, holding my weight on my elbows as I draw back to look at her. My cock is nestled against her wet cunt.
Her eyes have gone dark. I kiss her again, put my hands on her inner thighs to open her wider and when I draw back to look at her, I see a tear.
It sobers me.
She’s probably scared. Doesn’t quite know what to expect.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Scarlett.”
“It’s not…I just don’t understand why I want this,” she admits, another tear sliding down her temple.
I smile to her, kiss her. She kisses me back.
Drawing back, I place a hand on her chest to keep her lying back, using the other to keep one leg spread wide. She doesn’t try to close her legs, however. From here, I can see she’s slick and in spite of her fear, I smell her arousal.
I need to make her come before I take her. It’ll be easier for her.
I dip my head and hear her gasp when I close my mouth over her. Twirling my tongue in a circle around the hard little nub before sucking, I open my mouth wide to take the whole of her, tickling her other hole before returning my attention to her clit.
She gasps my name, her hands to my head, fingers pulling my hair.
“Come, Scarlett. Let me feel you come.”
It doesn’t take long for her to come and I drink it in, the taste of her intoxicating as she calls out my name in a long string. She’s just repeating, repeating, repeating, making my dick throb as if it’s confused why it’s not inside her. Only when her legs relax do I straighten and meet her eyes, a soft caramel now.
She’s so fucking beautiful. So perfect.
I lift her higher on the bed, settle between her legs, my cock at her entrance. I kiss her again, realizing she’s kissing me back, and I don’t think I can get enough of her.
When she feels me at her entrance she tenses.
“I won’t hurt you,” I mutter against her mouth but I’m not sure I’ll be able to help it. Her first time will hurt.
I take her hands in mine, weave my fingers with hers and I push in a little farther. The effort of holding back is taking every ounce of energy I have. I need to take care with her, though. I move slowly, in and out, inch by inch when the animal inside me wants to thrust hard, wants to feel her resistance and rip through it, feel the warm rush of virgin blood.
She’s tight. I swear she’s tighter than any woman I’ve been with, but it’s been a long time, so what do I know. And when she begins panting again, her passage slick, I know she’s ready.
I hold onto her, want to give her something to hold on to. I push deeper, still controlled, expecting resistance, expecting blood.
There’s a moment suspended. Something not right.
Because it doesn’t come.
The fact registers slowly. I pump in and out twice more then stop.
She makes a sound when I do and opens her eyes to meet mine, forehead wrinkled in disappointment.
“You’re not a virgin.”
I can hardly process the silence.
“You’re not—”
“I never said I was.”
I think back and she’s right. She didn’t. I assumed it.
I blink, pull out. I’m still hard. I look down at myself, still searching for evidence to the contrary of what I know is true. But there’s nothing there. No blood.