Page 34 of The Worst Kind of Promise
Fear steeps into every inch of me, but the sound of his voice guides me back to the present like a kerosene lantern in a room of complete darkness, projecting a safe path for me. His smell enriches the surrounding air, the feathery touch of his hand providing me with the comfort I’ve grown to know and love.
“I want to. I…I’m sorry. I’m okay. I just panicked for a second.”
Concern weighs his brow down. “Are you sure? I don’t want this to be stressful for you.”
He’s not going to hurt you, Faye. He’s going to be with you every step of the way. You deserve this. You deserve to feel safe in your own body. And you’ve wanted this for so long. You’ve wantedhim.
“I’m sure. I’m safe. I trust you, Kit.”
He ponders me for a minute, maybe waiting for me to take my statement back, but when I don’t, he tentatively leans back over me. I don’t miss the roil of his muscles or the nervous tug in his throat, though.
His lips travel the lines of my abdomen, an intimate march toward imminent pleasure, and they make their way up to the swells of my small breasts, worshipping the very flesh with a lap of his tongue. My head lolls back as I arch into his chest, begging for him to suck my nipples, use them as playthings for his teeth, bruise me where only I can see.
I can feel the heavy steel of his cock against my thigh, and the close proximity has my pussy fluttering. As if he can read my mind, Kit’s mouth engulfs my nipple eagerly, pulling at the puckered bud between his teeth, flicking his tongue back and forth. My hips instinctively snap up, and my hand tethers itself in his hair, pulling it with the same power his lips are exacting over me.
My breath comes to a screeching halt. “I want you…now.”
With a satisfied noise, he pops off my breast to rifle through the drawer in his nightstand, practically moving at the speed of light. When he acquires an XXL condom, he gives me front row seats to a lascivious show, slowly rolling it down his twitching length. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. The torturous waiting has my lower stomach cramping. Once he’s covered, he crawls over the bed, that monster between his legs dragging along the sheets.
“Which position, Princess?”
“Missionary,” I decide, pleading to whichever gods are listening right now that I don’t die from the size of him.
He situates me until my head is against the pillow and I’m in a comfortable position, and then he boxes me in with his body, one hand braced against the wall.
Kit uses his other hand to part my legs, fingers etching crescent moons in the meat of my thighs. “Can’t wait until I’m sliding into this gorgeous cunt. Can’t wait to paint your tits with my cum, write my name in it so you remember who the fuck you belong to.”
Even despite my nerves, I’m still as wet as the Pacific Ocean. The anticipation is killing me, my thighs are quaking, sweat is falling into my eyes, and I’m sucking in my belly, waiting for the brunt of him to hit me.
“Tell me what you need,” he purrs.
“Gentle.”
“I’ve got you,” is all he says.
I don’t have time to master my fear before he plunges slowly into me. My vagina fights the initial breach, pain spidering out from the intrusion, and my breath hitches as he stills. I don’t think he’s even a quarter of the way in.
“Are you okay?” Worry worms its way into his tone, and his grip on my leg softens.
I grind my molars. “I’m okay. Keep going.”
With a pause, he continues, sliding in all at once to lessen the pain. My pussy stretches, creating a low ache in my abdomen, but the sharp, stabbing pain is replaced with a warm, hardly noticeable pressure. As my body relaxes around him, he drives a little deeper until his ball sack rests against my clit.
Slowly, he starts at a rhythmic pace, my body rocking with each thrust. I’m afraid to move too much, so I let him guide, basking in the fullness of him.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, feeling his dick bully my core. It feels as if my entire body has incinerated into flakes of ash, the heat from his touch leaving thermal prints all over me. Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
An animalistic growl pervades the room. “Fuck, Faye. You’re so tight. You feel so good. I was made for your perfect cunt.”
Hewas made forme. Like I was the one who existed before him.
His strokes are precise, methodical, but I need the rush of rough, passionate sex. I need to prove to myself that I’m not going to let my fear of sex keep me from experiencing it with Kit. I know he’s holding back. I want the real him—raw, primal, unfiltered. This whole time he’s been treating me like a fragile flower.
“Can you go harder?” I ask.
“You want me to go harder?”
I bob my head. “I think so.”
