Page 19 of Girl Anonymous

She lifted her chin. “It’s everything the first time is reputed to be, and that last was like ripping off the bandage.”

In another lightning transformation, his expression changed from livid to amused. “Let’s start at the beginning. Did you like the kissing?”

“It’s interesting.”

“You’re going to turn my head.”

She found her head in the crook of his elbow, his lips on her lips, his breath in her mouth, his tongue… This was no preliminary to sex. This was full-on mouth fucking: the thrusts, the sucking, the way he ran his fingers through her hair and wandered off to kiss her ear, then returned to her mouth as if he couldn’t get enough of the sweet taste of her.

He moved inside her, too. Not thrusts. He was as far inside her as he could get. But as their bodies moved, angles changed, her discomfort eased, and she found herself shifting her legs as if she needed to reposition herself.

When she was panting and clutching, he eased away from her mouth, took her hands and kissed her palms, stroked up her arms to her breasts. “Small,” he whispered. “Perfect. Responsive.” She arched as he rubbed her nipples, over and around, then lifted her enough to lick and suck.

She thought his dick would leave her, but his hips followed enough to stay inside. He began a gentle rocking and she didn’t like that, until he lightly bit her nipple and she surged up in surprise and then down on him.

He smiled. “I don’t even have to ask if you enjoyed my mouth on your clit. You responded so quickly I never doubted you’d had experience. I’m an idiot. No experience, but you’re sensitive, hmm?” He rose onto his knees, pushed her and placed her with her palms holding her upright, then spread her legs wide. “I can pull out and lick you now, or you can spread your legs wide and let me… Wider… There. Look. Look where we’re joined.”

Verbal record, now a visual record.

His excitement began to crackle in his voice. “Watch as I stroke your clit and you—please, yes. You move.”

She had to. She had to move, to lift herself with her arms, lower herself onto his dick, wince and lift again. Varied signals bombarded her; the wild itch of passion, the need to move, tofind completion, the pain of penetration, the citrus lavender scent of the oil, his fingers gripping her butt and moving her on him, the sight of his penis sliding in and out, his face, dark and intent, twisted as if he felt her pain. She could hear moans: his, hers, and her thighs ached with effort. Control had crept beyond them and in some lucid corner of her mind, she realized the previous hour could be measured in minutes.

This…this fucking must be measured as a 10.0 body-quake, the largest on record.

Adrenaline and desire had kept her moving; that vanished at the wrong moment and she lost her strength, collapsed into his arms. “I can’t…do…anymore.”

In a move of magnificent brute force and awkward gracelessness, he toppled backward, holding her firmly in place. “Ride!”

Tears welled. “I’m so close. Please. You do it!”

He rolled her underneath him and suddenly, no space existed between them. His weight held her in place, he held her knees bent over his elbows, his hips plunged in a rhythm whose music only they could hear, he watched her face as if nothing else mattered but the feelings they shared now, and now, and now. And—

She paused, hovering on the verge.

He released her hips. His guttural voice came from deep in his chest. “Fuck menow!”

On his command, passion shattered her, releasing a cataclysm that shattered the shell she’d built. She wrapped her legs around his hips and lifted herself, and gloried in his thrusts…and for the first time in her life, she lost herself to the moment and to the man.

CHAPTER 8

When Dante lifted Maarja to her feet, he leaned her against the shower wall and reached out to turn off the water…and she slid down to the floor. She giggled. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m tired and so… Do I sound drunk?”

“Yes, but that’s not the issue. You were hurt and grieved. You were in the hospital and they gave you drugs.” He sank down beside her and peered into her eyes. “I should never have come on to you.”

She was pretty sure he was checking her pupils, not flirting. “I fucked you. Remember? You told me to and I did.” All in all, she was feeling quite pleased with herself.

“A virgin. A damned virgin! Broke every rule—” He looked down at his dick as if he blamed it. “How dare a twenty-seven-year-old woman who lives in twenty-first century America become a virgin?”

“I didn’t become one. I never stopped being one. That not-touching thing.” Her voice wavered a little.

“Right. When you said something happened when you were eleven, I thought—”

He had thought she’d been raped. She’d always been glad that she hadn’t, but what had happened was bad enough to leave scars, some literal, some mental, some emotional. “I was at thebus station waiting for Aunt Yesenia to find me, as she promised, and a bunch of guys started to, um…”

“Touch you.”

She nodded, feeling ill at the memory. “Mr. Caruthers stopped them.”

---