AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This…
This is just business and believing that somehow makes it easier.
I spread my legs for him and force a moan through my damp lips before I remember another one of Pedro’s warnings.No faking, Pita. They can sense that. You give them real squirming, wincing, ouchie reactions? They’ll eat it up like fucking candy.
I don’t have long to switch tact. He wrenches on the delicate elastic, pulling the fabric out of place, and slides a single finger inside me. “So tight,” he grunts, sounding genuinely surprised.
Trying to register the intrusion, I close my eyes. He’s right—it’s a tight fit. To be fair, it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone’s fingers but my own up there. My first instinct is to suppress. Pretend. Gasp and wiggle my hips like a good girl and let him feel so damn masculine.
But I don’t. I peel my eyes open instead and visibly wince. Maybe Pedro had it all wrong, but I find I’m incapable of doing anything else—reacting honestly.
Jaguar’s eyebrow shoots up—in confusion rather than suspicion. “Am I hurting you?”
Roughly, he drags that finger in and out of me, widening my entrance and sowing searing friction. I can’t silence a gasp. His hands are calloused and riddled with texture. The hardened skin snags on tender flesh, but the moisture that slicks his way in response comes as a shock to us both.
“No,” I rasp, holding his probing stare.
“It seems you may be eager after all, Lupe,” he grates, drawing back. The obvious sign of arousal glistening on his fingertips seems to lessen the coldness in his gaze. With that same hand, he reaches for the fastening of his pants.
I don’t move to assist him. I just watch, oddly entranced by the organ that appears as he undoes his fly and lets the material fall down his hips.
For a second time, I am forced to use the word beautiful when describing him. He doesn’t shave or keep himself trim the way some do. He’s natural and wild, as if daring any woman to balk at the raw, primal energy he exudes.
When I don’t, he makes a low sound in his throat. Approval? A jolt shoots through me, and I brace myself for the hungry way he grips my hips next, lifting me to him. I barely have a chance to hook my knee around his waist before he moves in, snatching my panties down my legs.
He doesn’t play games or beat around the bush—literally. He slams himself home without giving a damn if I can take him or not.
And I can’t. Until I am. He rips into me heedless of my body’s natural response—but the tightening, clamping muscles seem to thrill him. He groans again.
I savor it as a sign that I’ve done something right—finally—but another concern gnaws away at me before I can help it. Ten years ago, I’d accustomed myself to the brutality of sex. Making love, we used to call it. He would shove me down, climb on top of me without preamble, and I truly believed that was what love felt like. A man invading my body, utilizing it as a warm wet hole without a single damn given for my soul.
That idiot teenager grew up into a woman who learned that intimacy wasn’t supposed to hurt or be endured.
With that knowledge comes a set of impulses I can’t suppress, not even now.
“S-Stop!” I grip his shoulder, but to my surprise, he goes still.
“Is this the game you’re playing at?” he growls, fisting a hand through my hair, destroying my bun. “Talk a big game but wind up biting off more than you can chew.” His eyes shoot to a color akin to midnight, and I know I’m treading on dangerous ground.
But he still obeyed my request, and my mind reels at that.
I can feel his cock pulsating against my inner thigh. It seems insane that he could be aroused this fast, and yet he still maintains a semblance of control. It’s a surprisingly good sign.
“No.” I meet his glare and hold it. Then I use my grip on his shoulder to adjust my hips, widening my legs a bit more.
He lunges, bucking into me without preamble, but I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Slow,” I choke out. “Go slow. Please—” I add as he scoffs, and his expression betrays that waning interest again.
Thinking fast, I arch my back, taking his girth with another visible wince, but this way, I can feel the actual shape of his cock rather than forceful pressure. He feels strange inside me. So large but wickedly thick. With every twitching thrust, I can sense individual veins snaking up and down the considerable length.
Placated by the motion, Jaguar rocks into me, but noticeably slower.
A sound rips from my throat I can’t name. He’s too much. My eyelids lower as I rest my head against the wall.
He thrusts again. Again. Harder. Deeper, but with a persistent pulsing rhythm that is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. The man moves like an ocean wave. Unyielding. Unending. Unrestrained, he has the approach of a sledgehammer. But this way…
He’s delicious fullness and devastating movement. I don’t have to fake the pleasure—it comes on its own in illogical snatches. When his nails bite into my hips again. When he grates his pleasure against my ear. This must be a new sensation for him because he seems to relish it. How slow and controlled he can move. The variety of groans he can wrench from me.
