AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Until she didn’t know herself. He had transformed her into a begging, weeping creature of need.
And this was what she had always feared. Truly, deep in her heart, she had feared this. That she would be debased before him. That she wanted him so much would be revealed and so easily.
She wanted him. No woman twisting and sobbing in the arms of a man, on the verge of orgasm from a few strokes of his tongue over her most intimate flesh, could pretend that she didn’t have feelings for him.
No woman could pretend that she was dispassionate when she wasn’t horrified by such an act, but craved more. Reveled in the intimacy of it. In the intensity. And then, he added a finger to his pleasuring. Pressed one digit deep inside her before adding another.
She felt herself begin to stretch. She felt like she was going to fly apart. Like it was too much. Like this was too much. How would she ever be able to accommodate the rest of him if two fingers pushed the edges of reason for her body?
Except all she knew was that she wanted more. Whether or not she was convinced she could handle more.
She wanted him. She wanted him even if it made no sense. She wanted him even if she would cry. Even if it would cause her pain.
What a strange thing. That a woman must want a man so much the first time that she would willingly submit herself to that pain. That invasion.
That a woman must have a physical marker of her virginity in a physical cost for losing it.
But she was willing. She was willing to pay the cost.
And when he made his way back up her body, as she was spent from her first climax and his mouth met hers, treating her to absolute evidence of her own need for him. Of the intensity of it.
And yet, she wasn’t ashamed. To the contrary, she was spurred on.
Because she did want him. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. And maybe that was the key.
Minerva had little to offer him. But she had herself. All the desire in the world. And the purity of her need for him was real.
She could give him that. And perhaps that was something he had never gotten from those practiced, beautiful socialites whom he was accustomed to.
An authenticity of need.
Maybe...
Maybe there was a gift in her innocence. In all that she was. Maybe that she had no skills or tricks or trinkets to offer him was a gift in and of itself.
“I’ll go slow,” he said, his voice rough.
And she realized that he intended to go slow because he thought she was only three months out from having given birth.
Not that she was a virgin.
But perhaps that would help.
When the thick, blunt head of him probed her untried flesh, she winced, and when he began to inch inside her she cried out. Gritting her teeth as he met the resistance that she knew signaled her inexperience.
And then, he had breached her. It hurt. Terribly.
And there was no way she could pretend it didn’t. She cried out, and cursed herself as ten times the fool that she had ever thought for believing that she could hide this from him.
He began to withdraw and she panicked, grabbing hold of his rear end urging him back in.
“No,” she said. “We have to. I need you.”
He began to ease forward again, the effort it was taking him to go slow visible in the way the cords stood out on his neck.
“Please,” she beseeched him.
And on a growl he thrust all the way home.
