My spine tingles and jumps and I nearly reel from the shock of hearing his voice.
Not only do I plaster myself against the wall, but my whole body also hums to life. From my stuttering intakes of air to the curling of my toes in my white sneakers and all the way to my heaving chest. My nipples tighten and so does my pussy.
It’s just a voice, damn it, a voice among billions of others; however, it’s not merely any voice. It’s his voice. The man I’m not supposed to be crushing on, because it’s a form of dependency.
It’s not healthy.
And Dad will kill him when he finds out about this.
But all those thoughts blur in the background, all those don’t matter, because what I’m feeling is healthy in my mind, and Dad isn’t here. He still doesn’t want to wake up, so I’ll think about everything else when he does.
Right now, there’s only Nate’s voice and me, his stern voice that I can recognize the anger in. There’s a slight vibration in it, so even though it sounds calm, I know he isn’t. Oh, and the cursing. He only does that when he’s mad or aroused. I don’t think it’s the latter at the moment.
Anyhow, Nate’s voice should probably go on the list so I can desensitize myself and not lose my shit whenever I hear it. Because even though he doesn’t sound to be in a good mood, all I can think about are the dirty words he’s whispered and growled and ordered with that voice.
“Answer me,” he insists, still angry, still on the verge of something.
I stare up at him, and I think Nate’s face should be on the list, too. Nate’s body as well and, more specifically, Nate’s presence. Because that’s what turns me into a bundle of hyperaware nerves. That’s the actual thief that steals my breath and sanity.
But I can’t stop staring at him, at his broad silhouette that’s bathed in the late afternoon sun and at his gorgeous hair that’s so perfect, I want to run my fingers through it and mess it up a little, maybe mess him up a little, too, because he’s perfect and I hate that.
I hate the dependency.
“Chris and I went out.” I can’t tell him about the police, because he’ll make sure I find nothing. He’ll take away my investigation and if I insist it continues, he’ll take over it.
And that’s dependency, right? Leaving everything in his hands and letting him handle it all. And since I loathe the thought of it, I’ll change it. Fuck that word. Fuck dependency. I won’t depend on him anymore. From now on, I’ll take care of everything myself so that no one can say that word again.
I’m adding dependency to the stupid D list that keeps growing.
“You went out with Christoph,” he repeats slowly, menacingly, and my fingers shake. They shake so hard, I think he sees the effect he has on me. He sees how much he rattles me. But I don’t hide it, because his eyes rage a dark color that leaves me breathless.
His reaction to my shaking is wrong. My reaction to him is even more wrong.
We are wrong.
“Yeah. We went out.”
“Where?”
“Around.”
“Around isn’t a fucking answer, Gwyneth. Where did you go?”
“To the…uh…park.” It’s such a stupid, lame place to pick, but I’m not good at lying and that’s what came to mind first. I should’ve said to his house or something to gauge Nate’s reaction.
But I don’t need to, because he’s approaching me now, stalking actually, with his jaw set and his broad shoulders eating up the horizon, at least for me.
“You went with Christoph to the park on the back of his bike, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“And what did you do?”
“Stuff.”
“What type of stuff?”
“Talking and…” I trail off, because he’s right in front of me and I’m drunk on his scent and the masculine warmth that’s emanating from his chest.
“And what?”
I jerk up, and my head hits the wall, but that doesn’t matter. I lose sense of pain and reality when he’s so big in front of me. His sheer size makes me feel so small, and I clench my thighs because I’m sure he can smell my arousal, the reaction I have because our size difference turns me on.
“Go on. What else did he do? Did he touch you?”
“W-what?”
“Did he put his hands on this face?” He cups my cheek, his skin hot. Or maybe it’s mine since I’m on the verge of combusting.
“No.”
He drags his palm down to my throat, to the pulse point that’s about to burst and spill my heart out. “How about here? Did the fucker touch you here?”
“No…”
The hand that was just touching my face is now wrapped around my throat. Tight. Not so tight that it cuts off my oxygen, but it’s tight enough that all my attention is zeroed in on him and on the nerve endings of my jaw where his thumb is grazing it.
His other hand bunches my shirt and he pulls, tearing it open with more ease than any man should have. I don’t see the flying buttons, but I hear their sound as they scatter on the stairs.
My breasts bounce out, and even though they’re covered by a bra, that doesn’t last for long. He pulls it down, ripping the straps on my shoulder, and I gasp, the sound so aroused, I don’t recognize it as coming from me.
He exposes my pale naked breasts tipped with two hard rosy nipples that ache and harden with each passing second.
And the air hitting them has nothing to do with it.
He grabs them in his large hands, in those strong, veiny hands, and squeezes the tips together with so much force that it makes me whimper.
“Did he touch these tits? Did he cop a feel, Gwyneth?”
“No…he didn’t.”
“Did he try? Did you let him?”
“No…” I can’t stop whimpering and moaning at the same time because he’s mashing my breasts together, squeezing my nipples, and making them more tight and sensitive than I’ve ever experienced before.
Zaps of pleasure flood through me and cause arousal to pool in my panties, and I know he’ll feel it, too. He’s about to find out how much he affects me when he releases my throat and unzips my skirt, letting it fall around my ankles.
He cups me over my panties, digging his long fingers into my needy core with a raging possessiveness that makes me go up on my tiptoes.
“How about here?”
I’m struggling for a sliver of oxygen because I can’t speak. I can’t even think. His intensity is too raw and thick, wrapping around my throat, which is still tingling from his grip.
“Tell me, baby girl. Did he touch my fucking pussy?”
“No…”
“He didn’t, huh?” He squeezes my nipples, then glides his fingers over my dripping folds and teases my opening, and even though it’s only through the material, I’m nearing that edge that only Nate can drive me to.
The edge where nothing and no one else matters. The edge where it’s just me and him without the world’s judgment, labeling, and bullshit.
“He can’t touch it,” I breathe out.
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s yours.”
His jaw clenches and I can tell how much he’s aroused now, because his nostrils flare and the possessiveness washes over me in waves. It’s why I say things like that; I know they make him shed his control and turn into the powerful dominant who’s able to tear my world to pieces.
And then he curses and I get wetter at the thought that he wants me so much, he can’t contain it. Other men sound coarse when they curse, he sounds hotter than sin.
“What’s mine?” His voice is thicker, deeper.
“My pussy. It’s yours.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes, please fuck me.”
He closes his eyes, and even though his jaw is in a rigid line, I think he’s trying to conjure some form of patience, but when he opens them, he isn’t calm. On the contrary, his eyes are nearly black with all the shadows crowding his masculine face.
“What did you just say, baby girl?”
“Fuck me.” It’s barely a murmur now, a bit unsure since he’s pressing hard on both my nipples and my clit, playing with the tight tips, teasing and rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. And the pressure is reeling and about to take me under.
So I let it.
I let my limbs relax as the orgasm washes over me. It’s long and smooth and effortless, just like everything about him.
Then he’s moving me up and removing my panties, I realize in my pleasure haze, so I lift my trembling legs one at a time to help.
I’m completely naked now—aside from the torn shirt and bra—while he’s still dressed in his prim suit, and for some reason, that brings up the heat a notch. To make things even more unbearable, he shoves my panties in his pocket. He must have a collection of my vanilla-colored underwear by now, and I keep buying them, the same color, over and over again.
And then his hands are back on me, one gripping me by the waist and the other slipping into my slick opening. “You’re shaking like a leaf after a mere clit orgasm and you think you can take my dick up this tight cunt?”
“I…can try.”
“What if you can’t take it? What if you start crying because it hurts?”
“It’s okay.” My lips are trembling and my throat is so dry, it’s uncomfortable to swallow. “Because you’ll make it feel good afterward. You’ll make me smile after I cry.”
“You’re so sure that I will, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“But you said you’d be my toy, and toys break.”
“Not me.”
A strange look passes over his features as he releases my hip and unbuckles his pants. I can’t help the small gasp that slips out of me.
He’s huge.
I’ve felt his erection against my stomach, my ass, my pussy—everywhere—and I predicted he was probably big, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight in front of me.
His cock is not only long and thick, but it’s also veiny and hard, so hard that my mouth waters and my pussy clenches around his fingers.
There’s a drop of a transparent liquid rolling down the sides and sticking to his hand that’s pumping his length. He’s not gentle, even though he’s slow and I’m caught in a trance by the way he touches himself. So completely in tune that I wish it was my hand, or better yet, my mouth.
“It’s so big,” I murmur breathlessly.
“Did you change your mind? Afraid that my big cock will break your tiny pussy?”
Jeez. He really needs to stop saying things like that or I won’t be able to focus. Screw that, I’m unable to focus anyway.
Or maybe I’m too focused on him, on this moment, and on how that cock will fit inside me.
“I changed my mind. I think it’ll break me.” I bite my lip.
“It will.”
“That’s okay.” I reach a hand to his face, not his shaft, and stroke my cold, sweaty fingers on his stubble. “Because it’s you.”
I can feel the muscles of his jaw tightening beneath my palm and I know he’s at his limit, maybe even more so than me, because he groans. It’s deep and rough and simultaneous to him pulling his fingers out from inside me.
“Now, you’re truly fucked, baby girl.”
I squeal when he lifts me up in the air with one hand beneath my ass. It’s so effortless, as if he’s not carrying a person, and I’m forced to let go of his face to wrap my arms around his neck.
Then I’m trapped between the hard ridges of his stomach and the wall. I’m a bit higher than him, looking down at him for the first time ever with my feet dangling mid-air.
“Put your legs around me and hold on tight.”
I wrap my legs around his narrow, muscular waist as he glides the crown of his cock up and down my sensitive folds. The sensation is torturous and I instinctively rock my hips.
“Feel that? That’s you lubricating my dick so it can fuck you later. Do you feel yourself drenching me?”
“I do…” Embarrassment heats my cheeks and neck, but I can’t help getting both of us more wet, until my arousal coats my thighs and his shirt. He seems to take pleasure in it, because he keeps smearing it all over us.
“So fucking messy, my Gwyneth.”
I nearly come from that, how he called me his Gwyneth. The humping of his cock against my folds increases in intensity and rhythm until I’m hanging by a thread. And just when I think the thread will break and I’ll roll down the cliff, he slips inside. It’s not hard or violent, but it’s in one go.
One. Go.
Every inch of his huge cock is in me at once and it’s deep. So fucking deep that I whimper and gasp, and my insides feel like they’re tearing apart.
Because I think they are.
Holy shit. The sting hurts so good. It hurts better than I imagined. All the stories I’ve heard about this moment are nonsensical. They said it would hurt like you want to die or cry, and I do want to cry, but for an entirely different reason than pain.
Like how ethereal it feels, how full, how deep and right.
Nate doesn’t seem to share my thoughts, because he freezes, like completely, even though he’s breathing harshly and heavily. And his eyes, the color of darkness, widen a little as they stares into mine.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His curses start low, then grow in volume. “You’re a virgin?”
“I don’t think I am anymore.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, Gwyneth?”
“I didn’t believe it mattered.”
“Of course, it fucking matters. I wouldn’t have fucked you against the wall for your first time. I would’ve been gentle.”
“I don’t like it gentle.” I stroke the strand of hair that’s fallen over his forehead. “I like it exactly the way you do—rough and unapologetic.”
“You don’t even know what the fuck rough means.” He’s rocking his hips a little, thrusting slowly, and holy mother of all things, the bursts of pleasure running through me is too intense to handle.
“You can teach me. I love it when you do.” I rock my hips, too, and that makes him pick up his pace a little.
“Are you in pain?” One of his hands snakes behind my back and the other holds my hip so tight that his fingers are digging into my skin. I think he’s pining for patience to not take me as hard as his cock is ordering him to right now.
“I’m not.” I go down on his cock a few more times. “So don’t take it easy on me and don’t even think about holding back. Give me all of you.”
“Fuck this.”
And just like that, he does. He gives me all of him.
He moves inside me with deep, slow thrusts at first and I cry out at how good it feels, how damn full.
And then it’s faster and my body feels like it would fall if it weren’t for the firmness of his grip that keeps me chained to him.
Each stroke is so delicious and sensual, and I want to keep soaking it all in. His thrusts, the power in his shoulders, and even my long moans and slow whimpers.
But I can’t, because I can feel the savage building of the climax about to pull me under.
“A virgin. Fuck.” He grunts against my chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, then biting until I’m about to crumble here and now. “Why are you a fucking virgin, Gwyneth?”
“I didn’t want to…have sex…” I don’t know how I’m speaking with all the things going on inside me. Everything is just too raw and heightened.
“Why?”
“I didn’t find the right one to give it to.”
“You didn’t, huh?”
“No.” And I think, deep down, I was saving it for him. I wanted him to be the first man to explore that part of me, but I don’t say that. I can’t.
“But I came along and took it anyway, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Because it’s my pussy and it’s only supposed to be mine, right?”
“Yeah…”
I have no more words to say, because I’m coming. The climax drags me under and holds me hostage, and I scream from the sheer intensity of it.
Nate lets me, he lets me scream his name and how much I love it, how much I love what he’s doing to me. Usually, he stuffs something in my mouth to stop me from screaming, his fingers or a piece of clothing, but now, he doesn’t even attempt to mute me.
Soon after, I hear his low, deep grunt and feel him tightening and growing even thicker inside me. My pussy walls clench around his cock, wanting him to stay there forever.
And then there’s warmth. On my breasts. Because he pulled out at the last second, put me down, and came all over my chest.
No idea why a gloomy feeling that’s so similar to disappointment perches on my chest.
But the low mood is short-lived. As I stand on my wobbly feet, I can’t stop staring at the spurts of his cum on my pale breasts, clinging to the tips of my nipples and dripping down my stomach and onto the shirt he ripped.
Nate isn’t watching that, though. He’s watching my legs with a frown. I also look down and, through my unfocused vision, I make out a trail of blood gliding down my leg and to my ankle, then soaking my white sneakers red.
A long moment of silence stretches between us as we observe the evidence of my becoming a woman.
“Fuck.” His curse is low, almost a whisper, as he picks me up and carries me in his arms bridal style.
I wrap myself all around him, sighing, then I kiss the hollow of his throat and surrender to a deep sleep.
