• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He nodded. “Yes.”

I let his hair fall back in place and lay there for a few seconds thinking about it. Then I was laughing, laughing and couldn’t stop.

He was back at my shoulder, peering down at me. “Anita?”

The laughter faded as I looked into his worried eyes. “When you forced Raina to give you up all those years ago, did you know that she was the only one that could do this with you?”

He nodded, face solemn. “Raina pointed out the downside to not being her pet.”

I took his hand and slid it down the front of my satin bottoms. His fingertips found the wetness that had soaked through the satin, and I didn’t have to guide his hand anymore. He cupped that big hand of his over my groin, and the cloth was soaked through. He traced fingertips across my inner thigh and the skin was wet, wet down to my knees.

“How did you give it up?” My voice came out in a whisper.

His finger slid up the inside of my thigh, in the hollow just below. He leaned in to kiss me as his finger slid slowly, slowly, upward across the moist skin, under the wet satin. His mouth stayed just above mine, so close that a sharp breath would have made us touch. He spoke, his breath warm on my skin, as his finger caressed the edge of me. “No amount of pleasure was worth her price.” Two things happened at once; he kissed me, and his finger slid inside of me. I screamed against his mouth, back arching, fingernails digging into his shoulder, as his finger found that small spot and thrust over and over it, until he brought me again. The world had soft, white edges, like seeing through gauze.

I felt the bed move, but couldn’t focus, couldn’t see, wasn’t sure I cared what was happening. Hands fumbled at my shorts. I blinked up to see Richard kneeling over me. He slid my shorts down, spread my legs, and knelt between them. He leaned over me raising the satin camisole, baring my breasts. He ran his hands across them, made me writhe, then moved his hands down the line of my body, his hands gripping my thighs, bringing me in a harsh jerk against his body.

The moment he rubbed against the outside of me, I felt the rubbery latex of the condom. I looked up at his face, and asked, “How did you know?”

He moved so that his lower body was lying between my legs, but still pressed against the outside of my body. Most of his weight was supported by his arms like a modified push-up position. “Do you really think Jean-Claude would warn me about the ardeur and not warn me that you weren’t on birth control?”

“Good point,” I said.

“No,” he said, “this is.” I felt the movement of his hips, seconds before he thrust inside me, in one powerful motion that drove sounds from my mouth, somewhere between a scream and a shout.

He lowered his head enough to see my face. I lay gasping under him, but whatever he saw there reassured him, because he arched his back, his face looking somewhere in the distance, and drew himself out of me, slowly, inch by inch, until I made small noises. He drew himself out until he was barely touching inside me. I gazed down the length of my body to see him stretched hard and ready. He’d always been careful of me, because he wasn’t small; that one first thrust had been more force than he’d ever before allowed himself. He, like Micah, filled me up, hit that point deep inside that was either pain or pleasure. I saw his back and hips flex a second before he thrust into me. I watched him thrust into me, saw every inch of him plunge into me, until it bowed my back, my neck, and I couldn’t watch because I was writhing underneath him, my hands scrambling at the bedspread, digging fingers into the covers.

He drew himself out of me again, and I stopped him with a hand on his stomach. “Wait, wait.” I was having trouble breathing.

“It’s not hurting you. I can tell by your face, your eyes, your body.”

I swallowed, took a shaky breath, and said, “No, it’s not hurting me. It feels wonderful, but you’ve always been so careful, even when I asked you not to be. What’s changed?”

He looked down at