Page 81 of The Lady Was Lying
Pushing himself up and reaching between them to guide his cock, he intended to enter her as slowly as possible.
She had other ideas.
“I’m wet. I’m ready. You don’t…need…to go slow.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Everyone knew there was pain the first time, and he intended to mitigate it as much as he could. He wanted coupling to be good for her from start to finish so that she’d stay with him, not because he’d kidnapped her, but because she wanted to.
“You won’t hurt me.” She squirmed enough to make her nipples drag across the springy hair that sprinkled his chest, sparking tiny jolts of pleasure that enhanced his arousal even more
“But—”
“Trust me.”
“What?” he asked, unable to comprehend what she was trying to say.
“Do you need to go slow to find pleasure?”
“No.” The more friction the better.
“Then stick your cock inside me right now,” she demanded, “and start moving.”
Chuckling was probably not the ideal response, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when she spoke so bluntly and with such insistence.
“Right now,” she repeated, squeezing his arse, fingernails digging into his flesh.
He didn’t enter her as hard as he could have, but he didn’t go slow either, sliding into her tight channel in a single fluid motion.
“Holy fuck,” slipped through his lips, and it was her turn to chuckle.
And then groan.
She flexed or squeezed or something, and the tightness that gripped him increased. The way her body cradled him was almost too pleasurable, so much so that his hips rocked of their own accord, sliding out to almost the tip and then back in.
If being buried to the hilt had been good, the sensation of withdrawing and sliding back inside was staggering.
“Just like that,” she murmured, encouraging him, so he did it again and again and again.
He didn’t lose control, but he absolutely lost himself.
By the time he came, barely remembering to pull out, he was practically boneless, collapsing on top of her with a grunt and burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Her hands slid up his back to delve into his hair.
“Was it good?” he whispered when he had regained the ability to speak.
“Was it good?” she repeated, sounding almost amused. “What do you think?”
He dragged his head up so he could see her.
She looked debauched and quite pleased about it, her cheeks still flushed, lips still rosy.
“Yes,” slipped out of his mouth. “It was good.”
A throaty chuckle escaped from her, sounding like unfettered joy and making it clear that she agreed wholeheartedly. “Yes,” she repeated. “Want to do it again?”
“Yes,” he echoed. “Absolutely.” There was zero doubt. “Once I recover.”
“Is that going to take some time?” she asked, still smiling.
