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Holy shit, my mind is chanting, holy frigging shit, this is his cock inside me. It feels like it’s splitting me in two, and yet I want it, I love it, I need it.
We’re connected. I feel him throb, that steel length hot and burning inside my pussy. He shifts minutely, grunting, doing a little push-up over me, and his cock slips just a bit deeper, the angle changing.
I gasp and grab at his shoulders, wrapping my legs around him—and oh crap, that lets him in even deeper and ooh this is good. So good, I find myself moving, rocking, making him curse and push me down with his much heavier body.
Pinning me to the bed, buried inside me, his face hidden in my hair, his shallow breaths too loud, matching my own.
“Don’t...move.” His voice is strangled. “If you do, I’m gonna come... Just gimme a sec, fuck.”
Staying still is a struggle when he’s filling me up like that, when moving feels amazing, easing the full pressure of all that cock painfully stretching me. I sob for breath, clawing at his arms, needing him to move.
And finally he does, lifting up, powerful muscles in his arms bunching and shifting. He stares down at me, jaw slack, as his cock draws out of me more and more, then rocking his hips and thrusting back inside. Moaning brokenly, I hold on for dear life as he starts moving in and out of me, the friction unbelievable, every thrust hitting something inside me that has my toes curling and my belly clenching.
Never knew it could feel so good. I always dreaded the thought of actual sex, after hearing stories of blood and pain, but this... I can’t get enough. I wouldn’t care if I was bleeding out right now, as long as he’ll keep doing what he’s doing, pounding into me, leaning down to kiss me, open-mouthed kisses as his breath hitches and mine stutters, and I’m going to come.
It’s going to blow my mind.
I feel it starting, and I pull him down to wrap myself around him as I come apart. He falls into my embrace, gasping, groaning, his cock slick, slamming in and out of me, short, hard thrusts. He’s moaning my name, and I’m moaning his as the pleasure hits me, making me cry out and thrash. It’s too much, too immense, I can’t take it.
But he holds me down, makes me take it, and I cry out again as wave after wave pounds me.
I barely notice when he pulls out—though I do notice when he starts to come on my belly, my breasts, his long, low moans punctuated by the jets of cum landing all the way up to my chin, hot, wet splashes decorating my body, striping it, marking it, until it’s over and he slumps over me, spent. He’s heavy, his arms trembling as he attempts to keep from crushing me. After a long moment, he drops beside me.
We roll on our sides, sticky, sweaty, struggling for air, our noses touching, our breaths mingling. Suddenly, he grins, and it’s not the wicked grin from before. Those sharp incisors make an appearance, turning his grin wolfish.
But it’s also... kind of sweet. Happy. Boyish. It relaxes the lines of his face, crinkles the corners of his eyes.
He lifts a hand to my cheek. “Lu...” he whispers. “Pretty Luna.”
And unexpectedly, tears slip down my cheeks. Oh crap. I clap a hand over my mouth as Ross’s eyes widen.
“Sorry,” I whisper, mortified. “Sorry.”
He strokes my face, pale brows knitting. “What’s wrong, Lu? Did I hurt you? Fuck, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
I’m shaking my head, my emotions a jumble. I try to sort through my emotions and thoughts, but what comes out isn’t what I intended.
“How?” I blurt out, lowering my hand. “How can you say that I’m pretty? How do you expect me I believe it after the things you told me in the past?”
He’s staring at me, eyes colorless, face white, but the words are out now, out in the open, hanging between us, barbed and venomous.
Why did I have to do this now of all times? Way to go, Luna. Way to go...
***
“Lu.” He raises a hand, tucks a curl behind my ear. “Girl. I’ve told you that you’re pretty before, and that’s because you are. Can’t you see it?”
I... I don’t know what I see, except his handsome face so close to mine, made of shadows and gleams of light.
Why am I crying?
Maybe it’s because it was such a stressful day, I think—almost losing him, that terrible acid fear eating at me until I felt hollow and threadbare. Then that unbearably tight connection as I held him afterward, making sure he was okay, doing my best not to fall apart and cry, not to call him all sorts of names, not to beg him not to leave me.
To tell him how I feel. Such a bad idea.
Then waking up to Ross having a nightmare, ending it on mind-blowing sex, my first time and with the boy I’ve always wanted—only to hear him say the thing I’ve always wished to hear from that cruel mouth.
That this isn’t because of some base need now satisfied. Empty words spoken in the aftermath—but of course they are.
