Page 108 of Whistleblower

Something new.

I’m face down on the mattress, my head comfortably resting on a pillow that smells like Linc—clean soap and a tiny hint of sandalwood from the shampoo he uses.

I fidget in anticipation. The truth is I’m nervous. I’ve never really done this before, and from what I know, it’s not exactly a pleasant walk in the park the first time. But a six-foot-two, probably two-hundred-thirty-pound man struck me as hard as he could across my face. It can’t hurt much worse than that, right?

Linc drips the lube on my back first and I giggle when I smell the sweet cherry scent fill the air. I want to ask if he used this on a stripper but I bite my tongue. He’s already apprehensive about all this, best not to push my luck.

The sensation is incredible as he rubs the oil into my skin. With perfect pressure from his warm, large hands, the massage is pure ecstasy.

“Screw anal,” I moan. “Just keep doing this.”

He laughs. “We can. I’m fine with that.” More oil dribbles down the divot of my back. It’s cool when he pours it, but he instantly warms it up as he works it into my skin. He massages my shoulders, my back, my ass, and the back of my thighs. “I’ll do this as long as you want.”

“I’m kidding,” I say, popping my hips up off the bed. “Don’t chicken out on me.”

Linc presses against the small of my back, flattening me again. “You have to relax, Eden. Or it could be excruciating. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m relaxed. I’m ready.”

I can’t see his face, but I hear his exasperated breath as he straddles the backs of my thighs. His hard length rests against my ass cheek, reminding me how big he is. I let out a deep shaky breath.

Relax, just relax. It’s going to feel amazing.

He spreads my ass cheeks this time, letting the oil drip into my crease. All my apprehension melts away. Damn, that feels good. With a lubricant coated finger, he enters me slowly, and just like the time at Martinis, the sensation in such a different erogenous zone makes my stomach twist with forbidden delight.

“How’s that?” he whispers.

“So good,” I moan. “I love it.”

“Good girl.” He drags out his praise, savoring the words before switching to his thickest finger. “How’s this?”

“Ah, it’s good, Linc. Just fuck me, please.”

With one more squirt of the little bottle, he tosses it aside, so it lands by my head. “Talk to me, Eden. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Okay,” I say then gasp as I feel his tip nudge against my smallest hole. At first, it feels sinfully, deliciously arousing. It’s so provocative and freeing that I’m cursing myself for not trying this sooner. At first—

Then, all I feel is red hot rage.

It’s like I’m splitting at my seams and someone has lit me on fire. I gasp, the pain is so grotesque, I feel paralyzed. I can barely move—my body trying to absorb the shock.

“Are you okay? Talk to me.”

“Yes,” I whimper. “It feels good.”

I convince myself that every inch further I get closer to nirvana. I had friends in college who vehemently swore that anal sex is a religious experience, you just have to get past the first sixty seconds. So, I start to count, while I lie to Linc and tell him I like this.

Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…

I try to relax, but instead I brace myself against the invasive pressure as he pushes in a little further, slow as molasses. Slow freaking torture.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say between clenched teeth. “I can take it.”

Forty-two, forty-one, forty…

“Baby, if you don’t like it—”

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