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“Then I suppose it’s no wonder the drunks have been trying to knock your door down,” I rasp, giving in to temptation and closing my hands around her breasts, surprised when she arches her back and whimpers. “Jesus Christ, I’d have tried picking your lock myself,” I say thickly, thumbing her nipples into little peaks through the bodice of her dress, floored by the utter perfection of her. She’s a fantasy come to life, right here in my fucking kitchen. A siren. Somehow I was completely wrong about her intentions. All along, she’s planned to follow through on her promise. Not only that, it appears she has every intention of enjoying it. How is it possible my instincts were so far off? I don’t know, but I’m too horny to examine her behavior too closely. I just need to get balls deep in her pussy. Now. Right the hell now.
“Fuck.” I lean down and harass her neck with my open mouth, my hands dropping to her hips to yank her up against me. “I’m going to rut you silly, girl.”
“Yes,” she breathes, her tone going from shy to eager. “I know it’s bad. I know I’m bad. But I finally want to know w-what it feels like.”
In the haze of my need, I assume Chloe means she wants to know what good sex feels like. Perhaps it has only disappointed her before—and Christ, the thought of disappointing her is unbearable. But I’m not in any state for forepay or flirting or kissing, even. I’m close to spilling just from having our bodies pressed together, her plump tits pillowed against my chest, her skin so rosy and tempting. “Just let me get a quick one,” I manage to grit out, hurriedly unzipping my fly. “Need a fast fuck to take the edge off, girl. Pull up the dress.”
“Sebastian, I’m a—”
“Don’t make me wait another second.” I back her against the island, dragging up the material myself. Up smooth, pale thighs that demand attention I can’t give them right now, because Jesus, Jesus, she’s not wearing any panties. There in the low light of my kitchen is a damp little slit barely hidden by a dusting of hair, so tight looking, I have to throw my head back and growl through clenched teeth. I’m not even going to make it inside of her before I explode. “Young little thing, aren’t you?” I breathe, positioning my freed cock between her legs, dragging the turgid shaft up and back in the soaked valley of her pussy while she gasps. “Bet you need a Daddy, don’t you, Chloe? Is that right? Did you come here to find your Daddy?”
A rippling shudder goes through her, those hazel eyes glassy and unfocused. “I don’t know.” She sucks in a breath, arching her back when I make contact with her clit. “I…d-did I?”
“Yes. You did.” God help me, I have no idea where this Daddy shit is coming from. But as soon as the word is out of my mouth, a sense of purpose settles on my shoulders. I’m bigger and older than her and there’s something natural about slipping into the role of her protector. Her provider. The one who sees to each and every one of her needs. Guides and teaches her.
Next time.
Next time I’ll go slower, push her, give her so much pleasure she can’t stand it.
This time is all about getting the lead out of my balls.
“Take the pain away, Chloe,” I grind out, dipping down slightly and notching my cock against her little wet hole, then I surge up, pinning her against the side of the counter—and my fucking world tilts on its axis, the room seeming to inhale and exhale around me, the walls closing in and expanding. Tight. She’s infinitely tighter than I expected. Tighter than I knew was possible. So narrow and snug, I feel the clench of her cunt all the way to my goddamn throat. She’s screaming into my shoulder, her thighs jerking around my hips, and the truth…the truth is like a fist smashing into my skull. “Virgin.”
3
Chloe
Pain claws at my insides. A foreign kind of pain.
It’s more like an invasion of pressure. Everywhere. It plagues my loins, my tummy, the walls of my sex. There’s a definite stretching there, my flesh hurrying to accommodate Sebastian’s larger than normal shaft. And of course I know he’s well above average. I work in a factory with women twice my age and all they talk about is men and sex. They laugh and tell me to cover my ears, no idea that the act of intercourse, the wild tangle of two people mating, has always made my panties damp in my factory suit. Their stories replay in my head at night before I fall asleep, wedged in between prayers for forgiveness.
