And then he stops. But he doesn’t pull it out.
Instead, he slicks his cock up with lube. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I can’t… can’t fit both of you in there. Not at the same time.”
“I know.” He pulls me to the edge of the bed, bending my knees completely. And then his cock sits at my ass.
“Wait, I’m not sure?—”
“I won’t hurt you, pet. I know what I’m doing.”
“But—”
He pushes, just a little bit, and I hold my breath. He tsks. “Breathe, pet. Trust me.”
I try not to hyperventilate. I have no control here, no way to fight back if I need to. It’s not possible to stop him by any physical means if this goes badly.
But then he sweetly strokes my inner thigh and stares into my eyes. “Have I ever really hurt you?”
“Well, no?—”
He taps the outer end of the dildo inside of me, and suddenly, it buzzes against my G-spot, and there goes every thought I had. Panic? Gone. Fear? Still there, but I can’t speak it.
He works another inch of his cock into me while the toy vibrates deep inside. He’s not shoving, not pushing. Gentle thrusts of his hips, slow retractions. All while he stares into my eyes and caresses my body as he takes my ass.
I’m stretched beyond my limits. So full I can’t see straight. When I come, it travels up my spine, down my bones, and out my fingertips, and then back through me again. One orgasm becomes two. Two burst into infinity.
I cry out his name, I think. It fits well between curses.
When he’s finally buried inside my ass, I hear his words interspersed with my sailor language. “Taking me… so fucking good… Want another? Yeah, you do, don’t you?” He taps the toy again.
A little bit faster now. Another burst of pleasure, edged with pain. More screams. My body jolts, locked tight, his toy to play with.
Finally, his handsome face is red and sweaty over me. His pelvis pushes the toy deeper still as he fucks me twice. His eyes darken as he snarls, “Right… the fuck… now!” and he erupts in my ass, pumping, cursing, gripping the sheets.
FOURTEEN
DARIO
Fifteen minutesafter Opal gets home from school, she asks, “Are you coming to Parent-Teacher Night?”
The question sounds like a threat. “What was that?”
She sets her backpack down and looks at me. “My teacher said parents and guardians can come to Parent-Teacher Night and see my portfolio, and there’s also a bake sale, and I think you should come.” Brief pause. “Also, I made a drawing of our apartment for the portfolio, and that’s the only way for you to see it.”
Lena, who’s in the kitchen doorway with a glass of water, opens her mouth. “He doesn’t need to do that,” she says, and her voice has the careful, managing tone she uses when she’s trying to protect me from an imposition. “He’s busy, baby. It’s a school night thing.”
Opal doesn’t argue with her mother. She just looks at me with those eyes that are Lena’s eyes exactly. There’s the patient, waiting expression of a child who has asked something shemeans and is giving the person she asked the opportunity to answer for themselves.
“What night?”
“Tuesday.”
“I’ll be there.”
Lena looks at me. Something moves through her expression—surprise, and something she doesn’t entirely manage to keep contained before she looks away.
Opal, for her part, breaks into the full-body grin that means she’s genuinely pleased, and she picks up her backpack from the floor she just set it on and takes it to her room, and I can hear her humming as she goes.
