Page 44 of Veiled Flames
“Perhaps because you ride your horse astride.”
I’m about to ask what he means, but his finger re-enters my body, and my back and pelvis undulate, stealing my ability to form words.
“My rod is unusually thick,” he says. “And you are very tight.”
I clench around his finger. A reaction over which I have no control.
“I’m going to use a second finger to stretch you, before taking you with my cock.”
I nod against the blanket, in case he was asking my permission, and then two of his fingers slide inside me at once.
All the air vacates my lungs.
He leaves his fingers still inside me, as his other hand strokes my back and my throat. He’s trying to calm me. And it’s working. Because, while the thicker intrusion hurt at first, it now feels even more welcome than his single finger became, and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude as he starts to work his two fingers deeply inside me. I push back against their plunder, wanting more and more from his fingers as they probe and twist inside me.
“Holy thrix, Rosomon.” He growls. “You are as wild as an unbroken colt. I can’t wait to have your pent-up excitement housing my cock.”
I can’t wait for that either, but don’t get a chance to say it aloud. His fingers accelerate, the duo pumping harder and deeper than the single digit moved, and I can no longer breathe.
He bends over me, his hand on my shoulder to keep me from sliding forward with the force of his thrusts as his fingers rapidly impale me.
Deep inside me, a tightness builds, an unbridled force over which I have no control, and it’s driving me mad with desire. A desire for more and more and more of whatever pleasure Saxon has on offer. I feel like I’m climbing high on a mountain, like I’m soaring above the clouds. And I both dread and crave what is sure to be an uncontrolled descent.
“Thrix, Rosomon,” he growls next to my ear. “Fuck! What you do to me. I can’t wait any longer.”
In an instant, his fingers withdraw. He flips me onto my back and lands atop me, his hands planted either side of my head on the cot.
Saxon’s face is unrecognizable, wild and ferocious, his skin red and sweating, and the blacks of his eyes are so wide they nearly wipe out the brown.
One of his hands moves away for a moment, and when it returns something thick and hard presses against my entrance. I can see both his arms so it can’t be his fingers. For a moment, I’m afraid. Afraid of his rod. Afraid of him. Afraid of what he might do.
“Forgive me,” he says, and his hips thrust.
Pain steals both my breath and my thoughts. His eyes tightly close, his face in a grimace above me. Clearly this hurts him as much as it’s hurting me. But, as he holds his thickness inside me, my pain starts to lessen. It’s more like discomfort at the unexpected stretching and fullness. I can bear this pain, but his face is still twisted in a grimace, veins pulsing over his temples, and my only thought is to ease his obvious agony.
Reaching up, I stroke his face. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “Relax. Just breathe.”
Saxon’s eyes open, looking into mine, and a smile washes over his face. “You are a miracle.”
I take my own advice, and his invasion becomes even less painful. The intense burning turns to a warm throbbing that spreads out inside me, almost as if my body knows how to adjust to his thick intrusion.
I stroke the stubble on his chin, loving how it feels against my palm, and how I can see his desire for me in his eyes. Being stabbed by a man—copulation, sex, as he called it—was painful at first, but holding him inside me now, makes me feel close to him, like he’s now part of me.
I’m sad to know that this can only happen once, but I’m glad that it has happened with Saxon. I thread my fingers into his hair, finding it soft and luxurious.
“Are you ready?” he asks softly.
“For what?” Ready for it to end? I hope that’s not what he means.
“Ready for me to ride you,” he says. “Because once I start…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want your first time to be a good memory, but I’ve never felt so wildly out of control.”
Confusion rushes through me, but also pride and happiness as I absorb his words along with this rod. `
But before I can ask for an explanation, he starts to move. His rod slides deeper, as his fingers did. But this is so, so much more. His hips pump over me, driving him further and further each time he pushes forward. I thought I felt full and stretched before. It turns out his fingers were nothing.
“Oh!” I cry out. “Oh! Ah!”
Each time he plows forward, his rod slides even deeper, until I’m certain I have no room to accommodate more. But somehow my channel continues to stretch, as if it knows what to do.
