Page 112 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“D-Damien,” I whimper. “I’m about to—”

“Mmmn,” he says into me before suckling on my clit and rasping out, “I know, baby.” He suckles a little more. “I want you nice and ready for me when I fuck you with my cock. You want me to fuck you with my cock, don’t you?”

I whimper and nod. I want it so much.

“Then come for me. Because I’m only going to fuck your tight pussy when I want it to hurt. And right now, I want it to feel good. I want to fill you up and grind on every sweet surface inside your cunt.”

He goes back to that winning combination of tongue and fingers until my back bows off the sofa cushions and I let out a strangled sound into my hands. His fingers slow as he works me through the final throes of my orgasm. When I’m breathing heavy, but slowly, he climbs up over me, his forearms bracing on either side of my head.

“Help me out, sweetheart?” he asks, lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

“Mhn?” I ask, my body loose and my mind viscous with pleasure. When I realize what he means, I say, “Oh.”

I reach down between us and unfasten his belt, smiling a little as I undo his button and his fly. He uses one hand to push down his tight jeans and his boxer briefs just past his ass, his erection springing forward, brushing through the wetness between my folds.

He pauses, his brow furrowing as he breathes hard.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

“Do... you want me to wear a condom?” he asks. “I wasn’t joking when I said I always have one on me—”

“Slut—” I interject.

His lips twitch with a smile as he continues, “Slut-shaming aside, I can’t believe you’re still doing that, by the way. I’ll use it if you want me to.”

“I don’t,” I say, my hips bucking softly. “And I want you to come inside me like you’re trying to turn me into one of those MILFs you love so much.”

He blinks, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Do I detect a hint of a breeding kink?”

I wet my mouth. “I did mention how much I loved being the Mother at Beltane, right? Haven’t I always swallowed everything you give me like a good girl?”

He groans. “So, so good,” he says, gripping my lower lip between his thumb and his bent index finger, staring at my mouth like he wants to recalibrate and fuck me in the mouth instead. But his eyes flicker up to mine and his expression smooths to something warm and worshiping again. “Alright,” he says. “I promise to fuck you like an animal in a rut later—maybe even later today. But this time? This first time I fuck you, I want you to feel how much I love you every time I stretch your perfect pussy around me.”

I return the warmth, smiling up at him and nodding. “Okay,” I say.

His hands are large around my hips as he grasps me, his weight pressing me down into the couch as he starts pushing inside of me. It’s easy and smooth, but gloriously filling as he stretches me and seats himself all the way to the hilt. I can see what he means about hurting me—about making sure that I can take him nice and easy this first time, even though the ease of it makes me crave even the smallest hint of cruelty. Something to make taking him a challenge I can be rewarded and praised for. He lets out a ragged breath as I clench and adjust around him, the could-be discomfort no more than an overwhelming heat inside me.

He feels so good. Like he was made to be there. Even the hard structure of his hips against my thighs meets all my softness in the perfect compliment.

“Okay?” he asks.

“It’s perfect,” I sigh.

He makes a masculine sound of agreement before he slowly, slowly draws back out of me, every hard ridge and swell catching and brushing the delicate folds of my channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans. “God, Lillith. I want to live here.”

I want him to live here too. I almost tell him so, but then he’s pushing inside me again and I can’t breathe, can’t think around how good it feels. He lowers himself so his hips and abdomen are flush with mine, kissing me slow and deep before he starts the most delicious, grinding rhythm.

This isn’t some kind of porn star, jackrabbit fucking. This is slow and lazy and languid and good. Unbelievably good. He watches me intently, inhaling and exhaling in time with me. I lose myself in the forests and lakes of his eyes. He slides one of the hands on my hip down my flank and hooks it behind the crook of my knee, pushing my upper thigh against the curve of my breast. I go taut around him again.

It hurts. The sensitive swell of my cervix pangs with pain. I go so tight around him that he almost can’t move, but the experience is the best I’ve ever felt as he keeps grinding past that resistance. It feels like testing him—like fighting him—and being wrestled into loving submission. My toes curl against his side.

“Sweetheart needs it to hurt a little, doesn’t she?” he asks, his hooded eyes alight with dark gratification.

I nod eagerly and bite down on my lip before another pathetic sound falls out of me.

“You’re so perfect,” he says kissing my temple so gently. “Perfect for me. Letting me fuck you until it hurts.”

The lazy grinding shifts to slow, powerful thrusts. Each one making me whimper or cry out or yelp. Heat builds, blanketing my body in tingling warmth and blurring my thoughts at the edges. Coherent thoughts vignette into hazy impulses. Pure sensation. Simple intuition.