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He bit his lip and applied himself to the task with utmost concentration. “Softer,” I panted at him. He changed his touch, lightened it.
“Mmm, that,” I sighed, closing my eyes.
Before long, I had both heels on the bed as I moved against his hand.
He pushed the finger of his other hand inside of me, and this time it was better. This time I wanted it to move.
“Can I go deeper?” he asked hoarsely.
“No,” I gasped. “Just keep doing that. Move it. Just like that.”
I felt I was getting close to something when he seemed to lose it again.
I glanced down at his lap. I hadn’t even realized he could, but he was coming again, jerking into the air.
I hadn’t even had to touch him. He was coming just from touching me. I reached a hand out, stroking him, feeling it with him, as though with touch I could own his orgasm for myself.
And as he came, and came, he got careless with his hands, jerking his finger harder and deeper inside of me. With a stifled cry, he shoved it in to his knuckle.
I jerked, my eyes shutting tight in pain. “Dante!” My voice was an embarrassing yelp.
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” he panted, and he sounded it. “I didn’t even know I could do that. My fingers are too big. Jesus. I’m sorry.”
I glanced down as he pulled his finger out of me. It was bloody.
I closed my legs and turned away. “I’m not supposed to start my period,” I told him, mortified. “I don’t know what happened.”
He started kissing my back and stroking me like a cat. “That wasn’t your period. Jesus. I’m sorry. I broke your barrier. Your hymen. I didn’t mean to, I swear. I thought it would only break when we had sex. Did I hurt you?”
“A little bit. Nothing major. It just surprised me.”
His breath was getting heavier near my ear. “Can I look? Are you too sore for me to keep trying? I want to look at you. I want to get you off.”
I let him cajole me onto my back again, let him push my legs apart and look at me, because it seemed to be driving him wild again, and I was absolutely addicted to driving him wild.
And just as strong of a motivation; I wanted him to get me off. I wanted to know what it felt like; the thing that put that madness in his eyes.
It took a long time, it was unfamiliar ground for both of us, but he was patient and curious, and he worked me with his hands until he wrung my very first orgasm out of me.
He kept his fingers in me as I clenched on them, a look of wonder on his face.
“Does the hymen thing mean I’m not a virgin anymore?” I asked him later.
“It means that you’re mine,” he said intensely, kissing me.
I had the most ridiculous, impossible thought then: I’ve just planted the seeds of my lifetime obsession.
I’d never need more than him. He fed all of my needs. He was just difficult enough to challenge me, but tender enough to make me feel safe.
Dante and I fit together perfectly. I’d been made for him and him alone. The idea of even looking at someone else in that way was intolerable to me.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
“I can resist anything except temptation.”
~Oscar Wilde
