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I fist his hair when it gets too much, my nails grating his skin. A constant burn around his penetration blazes, the muscles fighting back against the invasion, the sensation of pain growing. Moving up. Into me—
"Stop, stop, stop." I pant, the stretch of those muscles all-consuming, each nerve channelled down there. My body bursts with the need to recoil. To stop the sting. My ears and neck are hot, and my throat tight.
He studies my face, and I glance away evasively, disappointed in myself for stopping him. Other girls do this. Why can't I? I want to do it. I want to feel it…
He pulls himself out of me, and I almost cry at the relief when my arse closes and the burning stops. "I'm sor—"
"Don't you dare use that word. You know what it will get you. Never besorryfor recognising your limits."
I blink at him. "How far in were you?"
His brows draw in. "Barely at all, sweet girl."
"What if you don’t fit?"
He smiles smoothly and sweeps a rogue hair over my shoulder. "I will, little deer."
"But, how do you know? You're not a girl. What if it really hurts, and you don't know because no one has ever told you. I'm scared it is going to hurt."
"I would never hurt any part of you." He stares at me with intensity playing through a dark thought. “Come with me, sweet girl.”
He nods for me to climb from him, and I do as I am ‘nodded to do.’
He stands, grabs a perfect diamond-shaped pillow, and walks into the dressing room with it grasped in his fist.
The length of his body a long form, muscles curving and flexing in a smooth predatory way. This man is every bit as formidable and powerful when he's naked as at any other time. More so in a smooth, unaffected fashion, as though he could just as easily kill a man in this state.
His suited form, muscles visible beneath layers of expensive fabric, is not what gives this powerful man his intimidating presence. It is in his very being.
He places the pillow on the ottoman and nods towards it, and I blush, remembering when I touched myself there. “Lay down, mount my pillow, and twist your face towards the mirror. I want you to watch.”
Heat creeps up my neck, the warmth of excitement blooming across my skin, and when I crawl on the ottoman and look at myself, my skin is slowly pinkening.
Steadily, I lay flat; the ottoman is long enough to accommodate my entire length. I watch as the deadliest man in the city, naked, all trim lines and tattoos, places a knee on either side of my body. He repositions me and the pillow until it is between my legs and under my pelvis.
His eyes are hooded as he gazes at me—my backside arched up, my pussy instantly grinding on the pillow, yearning for that blissful pressure.
I am swimming in ecstasy as I stare at his reflection. He looks so much larger than me in the mirror. A formidable six-foot-five physique hovering over a smaller frame, barely the same species we are so utterly opposite.
That is what we are. What we look like all the time. The orphan and the Mafia Don.
He uses the bottle in his hand to lubricate his palms. I swallow, my white skin now glowing deep hues of rouge.
I moan as his hands work my muscles down to my backside, attentive and warm. My body is lax and opening. He begins to massage the cheeks at my bum, and I gaze down to watch his cock strain against his navel. Thick like my forearm. Covered in perfect blue veins that pulse.
I roll my bottom lip against the upper to the sight of him, his massaging movements sway his body, his cock heavy, moving with him. It’s an erotic view.
“Sir.” His name tumbles from my lips when firm palms massage up my back and down again, my entire body loosening under his skilled kneading.
Then his finger touches the rim between my cheeks, but I don’t clench around it. I watch him instead. His eyes are glued to his masterful workings. He rims me leisurely, dipping in and then out. Something like a moan but far too guttural to be one, fills my throat. I love the sensation. I begin to press back again, and he stills his finger. “That’s my good little deer.”
Swimming in heat and thick air, I rock my hips back and forth, rubbing my pussy on the pillow and then taking his finger in slow stretching inches.
“Christ,” he says through a heavy exhale. “You’re simply the prettiest thing I have ever seen. That’s very good. Your body loves being full of me. All your pretty holes available and open. You are just nervous, sweet girl. Watch me enjoy your lovely little arse.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as he slowly drags his finger from inside me, all my internal muscles rippling, and my body shuddering at the last pop.
He presses the crown of his cock to my puckering rosette, and my eyes fly open to watch him. With his brows tight, his mouth open and panting, he inches inside me.
