Virgin Romance by Penny Wylder
7
At 7PM on the dot, I’m standing out front of my apartment in the ridiculous dress. I feel like a runaway bride on her way to city hall, in the white dress and sparkling diamonds and towering heels. But I also, I have to admit, feel more than a little sexy. The lingerie does something to me, boosts my confidence and makes me stand straighter, curve my hips more sharply as I stand in place.
Just knowing how good I look underneath this dress makes me all the more confident that I look amazing with it on, somehow. And this time, I’m not going to let him get the drop on me. I’m going to keep my eyes on the prize. This is business, even if it is mixed with a huge dose of pleasure. I’m getting that money from him, one way or another.
Preferably in a way that also involves him fucking me senseless with that thick cock of his . . .
Still, for all this confidence, my jaw can’t help dropping when the freaking limo turns down my street. I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Erin, who’s curled up on our third floor fire escape in PJs, cradling a bowl of popcorn like she’s watching the ending to Pretty Woman. I roll my eyes, wondering if she can see it from that high up, but she just waves excitedly at the limo, then shoots me two thumbs up, nearly dropping her popcorn in the process.
The limo pulls to a halt, and a driver in a suit steps around to open the back door for me. I climb into it carefully, and realize as I step in that this is the same limo he sent to pick me up from the waxing salon.
Maybe he does plan to fuck me in here after all.
Pierce is already inside, reclining on the far seat, near the bar. He has a glass of what looks like whiskey or bourbon clutched loosely in one hand, but he doesn’t even seem to be aware he’s holding it. His eyes lock onto me hungrily the second I climb inside, and I can’t help doing the same to him. He looks fucking amazing in his dark gray three-piece suit, the darker gray tie the perfect subtle color accent to the rest of the outfit. His cufflinks, which flash in the limo’s lighting as he lifts the glass of whiskey to his mouth, match my bracelets. They flash with diamonds, and as I bend down and move closer to him in the limo, I realize they’re tiny diamond keys.
Keys to fit my handcuff bracelets. Cute.
“I’m glad you like them,” he says, offering me a wrist so I can inspect it closer. I blush and slide into a seat along the wall next to him, far enough away that we aren’t touching, because I don’t trust myself this close to him.
“You’re observant,” I murmur, glancing from the cufflinks to his expression.
He laughs softly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is a little unnerving how much you notice.”
His smile widens. “I think it’s a good thing that I pay such close attention. A blessing, really. After all, it’s thanks to my keen attention to detail that I found your ad online.”
I glance behind him at the driver, but the limo divider is raised. It’s glass, but it looks solid, and it’s tinted dark. I don’t think he can hear us from up there. I lean closer to Pierce, tilting my head. “Why were you on that site, anyway?” I ask.
“Why were you?” he counters.
But I shake my head. “My situation is different. You’re wealthy, smart, successful, hot as hell.” I flush a little as his smile widens, realizing what I just admitted. But hell, he already knows that. He must. He owns mirrors, I’m sure.
His amused smile fades, and he rolls his shoulders, almost a shrug. “The girls on that site want money. I have money. It seems like a match to me.”
“That’s not much of an answer,” I counter. “I mean, why go on there, instead of dating people in real life? You could have any woman you wanted. A few, even. Why pay for sex?”
His mouth clamps into a thin line, and his eyes flash. For the first time since I’ve met him, he looks genuinely irritated. Not just frustrated at something I’ve done, but annoyed. Almost . . . hurt.
He turns away from me to look out the window, and takes another long sip of his whiskey. “You didn’t answer me either,” he replies after a moment. “We were both on that site, Bonnie. Our reasons are our own. The here and now is what matters.”
“I . . .” I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about my grandmother with him, or why I need money so desperately. I guess he has a similar reason, though I can’t possibly imagine what it could be, wealthy and drop-dead gorgeous as he is. I sigh. “I’m sorry, Pierce. You’re right. And thanks for the dress,” I add after a moment’s pause, smoothing it with my fingertips. “And the jewelry, even though that seems over-the-top for a second date.”
He laughs. “You think that’s over the top? Just wait until we get to the actual date.”
I lean across the seats to nudge his foot with mine. “No fair. What are you trying to do, make me like you or something?” I groan in fake complaint, but when our eyes catch again, there’s a genuine emotion in his that makes my heart seize.
Does he? Does he actually care what I think, and want to impress me?
Or is this all an act? Part of his power-play fantasy, in which I am a paid actor, here in the role of the innocent damsel he’s deflowering.
It’s the latter, I decide. It has to be.
Otherwise, shit is about to get way too complicated.
“Here we are,” he announces, breaking up the moment of solemn eye contact. I glance to the window beside us, and I can’t help it. I sit up in my seat and actually squee in delight.
Because there’s a helicopter parked right beside us.
“Oh my god are we going on it?” I beam at him.
Pierce laughs, hard. “I thought this would make you more nervous than excited.”
“Are you kidding?” I cry. “I love flying! My Gram was a pilot, she used to take me up in her chopper every summer over the Rockies—I . . .” Shit. I stop dead, realizing my current situation. I shouldn’t reveal so much about myself. And if I don’t want him to know why I’m so desperate for cash, then I need to stop talking about Gram, now, before I talk myself into an awkward reveal.
“A pilot, huh? That’s unusual for a woman in her generation, I’d imagine,” Pierce comments as he slides out of the limo and holds the door open for me.
I step out beside him, my hair whipping across my cheeks in the heavy wind from the chopper blades, as someone starts its engine. “I guess so,” I shout back over the sound of the chopper blades, flushed. “She’s young for being a grandmother, though,” I add, to try and cover. She’s not. She was one of the first female pilots hired to work a major airline ever, and only because she had experience flying as a vet before that. But again. Identifying information. Don’t give too much away.
I run my hand through my flyaway curls and change the subject. “Where are we going?” I shout over the rising sound of the motor.
He rests his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the chopper. As we reach it, his hand dips lower to squeeze my ass tightly. “That, my dear, is a secret.” Then he catches my eye and grins. “Unless, of course, you know how to fly this thing, in which case I’m happy to give our pilot the night off.” He lets go of my ass, only to slap it.
My cheeks flush an even brighter red, but I grin back at him. “I’d say yes, but, it’s been a few years since I last flew, and if I don’t know where we’re going, and it’s nighttime . . .”
“Good call,” he chuckles softly in my ear as we climb aboard. We settle into seats side-by-side, and when he catches my hand and curls his fingers through mine, I shoot him a happy smile, squeezing his palm gently. It feels natural to sit here like this beside him, our helmets on, but neither of us talking through the loudspeaker. We’re just enjoying the view, especially once we take off and begin to sail across the familiar landscape of San Francisco, and then eastern California.
As the ride continues, he lets go of my hand and brushes my thigh instead. As his fingers inch higher, I return the favor, trailing my fingertips along his inner thigh. His hand reaches my crotch, and he spreads his palm against my mound, thumb grazing my pussy through the thin fabric of this dress.
I shiver and trace the outline of his cock straining against his pants.
All the while, we chat, mostly about the routes I’ve flown before. Both of us pretend we aren’t groping one another in the process, though every now and then one of us will hit a sensitive spot, making the other one gasp faintly. It’s quickly becoming my favorite game; as I relax against him and stroke his cock, his fingers slip beneath my dress to toy with my panties.
He talks about other trips he’s taken, and his favorite spots. He insists that the helicopter tour he once took of Iceland’s Golden Circle, and the volcanoes that lie to the north of it, was the best circuit he ever flew on. I tell him I’m jealous of his travels, and he grins at me, squeezing my pussy slightly at the same time. “Maybe I’ll take you there sometime,” he murmurs, and I swear, just the sound of his voice like that, so close in my ear over the speakers in our helmets, could sustain me all night long.
Over and over throughout the flight, he gets me close to orgasm. But every time, the second he feels my body tense, he draws his hand away. Waits for me to calm down before he starts stroking me all over again. I think I might go crazy. To make matters worse, even after I half-unbutton his pants and wrap my fist around him fully, I can’t seem to make him get close to finishing. He’s way too in control—of everything. It’s frustrating as hell.
I’m nearing another orgasm when the chopper shifts beneath us. We’re pulling into a landing pattern, I realize.
I disentangle myself from his hand for a second to peer out his side of the chopper, and recognize the skyline immediately, even though I’ve never been here. It’s iconic enough that I think anyone would know it at once.
“Vegas?” I raise an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Did you bring me here to gamble away all your savings, or just to buy a few more girls to share me with?”
He laughs. I love his real laugh, the one he lets out when he thinks I’m not really paying attention, or when no one is watching. It’s hearty, deep, full-body. He shakes his head, still grinning. “Relax, hot stuff. We’re here to see a show.” He catches my eye, the smirk deepening. “That is, unless you’re eager to skip the show and get right to making our own.” His hand is back at my center, his fingers wet with my desire. He slides one inside me, so slowly it makes me squirm.
My heart skips, but I tighten my hand around the base of his cock, hard. “You know me. I’m always eager to go. Anytime, anywhere.” I stroke him gently to emphasize that point. But his palm has gone still against my mound, his finger unmoving inside me.
We stare at one another for a long moment, as the chopper lands. The engines cut out overhead, plunging us into sudden ear-ringing silence.
“And you know me,” he finally replies, so softly I almost don’t hear him. “I want to make this last.”
Then he’s pulling out of me, climbing out of the chopper before I can react. In a second, he’s refastened his pants and descended to the landing pad below, offering me his hand. We’ve landed on a rooftop, I realize as I accept his help and jump down beside him. The cool desert night air whips my curls around my face, and I breathe in deep, savoring how dry and chilly it is. The pad beneath us still sizzles with the leftover heat from the sun, but outside Vegas, in the real desert, night is a cold thing.
We stride away from the helicopter. He reaches for my hand, his fingers still wet from being inside me. But I’m annoyed, so I jerk my hand away. In response, he just shrugs and sticks his finger into his mouth. I roll my eyes and look away, but dammit, he knows that it gets me hot to watch him taste me.
The elevator at the far end of the roof takes us straight down to a floor marked stage, where a bellman meets us with flutes of champagne on a tray. He leads us down an empty hallway, and opens a side door, bowing us inside.
We enter a theater like I’ve never seen before. There are acrobats poised all around the stage—we’ve arrived partway into the first act, but it’s a closed balcony, just two little seats all to ourselves, right out in front, closed off by a red stage curtain from the rest of the world. I go to sit down beside him, but Pierce pulls me onto his lap, and I curl up against his chest, hands wrapped around his broad shoulders. He’s still hard. I wriggle a little against him to get revenge, and I’m rewarded with the sensation of his cock twitching against my ass.
In response, he grabs my hips and grinds against me.
We watch the whole show like that, a crazy Cirque du Soleil-esque performance with acrobats sliding and gliding all over the set, moving in impossible ways, their bodies contorting all over. And all the while we’re contorting too, teasing each other to the brink and back, over and over. I never knew I could feel this turned on, this desperate to come. I can’t catch my breath around him, especially not when he keeps grabbing my ass and squeezing, hard.
Finally, I can’t resist anymore. I drop to my knees between his, and spread his thighs. I don’t even wait for permission—I’m already undoing his fly.
That’s when the lights go up for intermission. He just watches me, smirking, like he knows I won’t go through with this. I hover at his crotch, indecisive. I want to taste him again, suck his cock until he comes. But the lights are on now, people could see us . . .
The door to the booth opens, and I fly to my feet, shocked.
It’s the bellman returning with another tray of drinks, this time with a whole selection. Pierce takes a glass of the whiskey, which the man assures him is aged and single malt and a few other adjectives I don’t catch, but which make it sound quite expensive. I stick with the champagne, because I’ve learned from my nights out with Erin that mixing isn’t a good idea for me.
“Anything else?” the bellman asks us, once we’ve made our selections. He hovers at our elbows, like he doesn’t have anywhere else to be or anyone else to serve. That, or he saw me kneeling and wants to stick around to embarrass me on purpose. Ugh. I’m bright red, but Pierce just smiles at me innocently.
“What do you think, Bonnie?” he asks.
Damn him. I scowl. “I don’t know.”
“Perhaps some of the new hors d’oeuvres?” the bellman suggests. “The chef has not released them to the public menu yet.”
Pierce keeps watching me. I shake my head.
“Thank you, we’re fine,” Pierce assures him.
I can tell from a glance across the way that there are other single boxes like ours dotted across the theater. Shouldn’t the bellman serve some other customers, check on his other tables so to speak? I know enough about servers to know that he seems uncharacteristically unhurried, totally focused on this one customer.
“I guess I’ll try some,” I finally say, because it doesn’t seem like this guy is going to leave us alone otherwise. He bows and disappears, and Pierce leans in to kiss my neck.
“Don’t ruin your appetite,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot. “I need you hungry later . . .”
I shift on his lap, enjoying the sensation of his cock straining against me as I brush against him with my thigh. “Don’t worry, Pierce.” I lean in to nibble his ear, and his hands tighten around my hips. “You always make me very hungry,” I whisper. “Or should I say thirsty . . .”
By the time the bellman returns with the hors d’oeuvres, we’re too lost in kissing to even hear him. Pierce’s tongue explores my mouth, his lips working against mine, and I rake my nails down his back, shiver when he grabs my hips and tugs me against his hard body.
When the second half begins, the lights finally dimming, I lean around Pierce to discover the plate of puff pastries and some kind of savory meat on skewers. I feed him one half, and devour the other half myself, delighting in every bite. The chef should definitely release these to the public menu ASAP, I think, as we watch the acrobats on stage perform another wild maneuver.
Then I’m distracted once more by the sensation of Pierce’s lips on my neck. He kisses his way to my spine, then slowly inches his way down my back. He pushes me off my seat, has me stand before him, and next thing I know, he flips my skirt up to bite my ass through my panties. I swallow a gasp, knowing there’s another booth beside ours. But fuck, his hot breath on my ass cheek feels better than I could have imagined. And then his stubble grazes my inner thigh, and I go weak at the knees, leaning against the wall for support.
His tongue laps at the crease where my thighs meet my hips. He traces the outline of me, never quite touching my lips, my pussy, my clit. Then he spreads my ass cheeks and slips his tongue between them, and this time I do gasp, unable to quiet myself.
Fuck. I didn’t know this was a thing. I bend double as his tongue explores my ass, thanking god that he made me wax before all this. He delves his tongue into my ass, and I tense, groaning. Fucking hell. Who knew that could feel so good?
When the show ends, my legs barely function. Pierce stands behind me, and I lean back against him heavily, so he’s practically holding me up. He leans in to nibble at my ear.
“You are exquisite, my little slut,” he whispers, as a pulse of desire throbs in my pussy.
We’re still standing, applauding, and before we even manage to turn around our chairs have been whisked out of the way, along with the tray where we set our drinks and plates. A different member of the waitstaff has appeared this time, holding our door open and announcing that our dinner is ready.
We follow him to a quiet restaurant, with only five or six other tables. It’s on a high floor of the hotel, somewhere near the penthouse, I think. The huge windows across one side of it overlook all of Las Vegas, and I spend a few minutes standing in front of them gaping at the skyline, until Pierce rests his hand on the small of my back and murmurs that our food has arrived.
We didn’t even need to order or anything. And it’s a full three-course meal, each one more deliciously mind-blowing than the last. Though none of them, I notice with amusement, are very heavy or hearty courses. Pierce was right. He wants to keep me hungry for later.
We finish with light, savory ice cream flavors, lemon and thyme and a lavender chocolate blend that makes me question everything I thought I knew about ice cream, that’s how damn good it is. We leave without even seeing a check, but I figure Pierce must have some kind of deal with management. They clearly all know him pretty well. Maybe he’s a common visitor here—a high roller or something. I hear the hotels in Vegas really pamper all their experienced gamblers, since those are the customers who always keep coming back for more.
Naturally, when we leave the restaurant, he pushes the penthouse floor on the elevator. It makes him swipe a keycard, which he does, even though last time I checked, we hadn’t checked into this hotel anywhere. He really must be a regular. I start to wonder about the site I found him on.
Was it Vegas-based? Maybe he lives here? Or maybe he’s a gambling addict, and the bid he put in for my virginity is just another gamble for him. Spend a ridiculous amount of money to see if you enjoy fucking some girl who has never fucked anyone else before, and has no idea what she’s doing. That does sound like a pretty big gamble to me.
I’m still trying to work out what’s going on here, why all these people are treating him the way they do—is this how fancy hotels treat all their rich guests? —when the elevator doors open.
We have the entire floor.
I step straight out of the elevator into majesty. Wraparound windows surround the suite, and we’re so high up that beyond the buildings I can see the faint curve of the horizon, the desert kissing it, and the full moon rising along the distant horizon. A few stars glitter overhead, though most of them are blocked out by the light pollution of the city at our feet.
The ceiling is glass too, clear as the night sky above.
In one corner of the open-plan suite, I spy a hot tub, deep enough to fit at least a small party of people, with jets along its sides. On the other side is a massive bed, larger than king size, I’d warrant, and spread with sheets and a fuzzy fur comforter so perfectly white that they match my dress tonight. In the center of the room is a brazier, already lit with a warm fire that glows in the hearth. There’s a kitchenette too, but it looks empty, unused. Nobody who stays on this floor cooks for themselves, of that much I’m certain.
Pierce takes my hand and leads me into the room.
“This place is insane,” I say, ready to ask him how the hell he found out about it, how he booked it. I knew Vegas was luxurious, but I had no idea.
When I look at him, however, his expression has gone serious and hungry again. His eyes devour my body, lingering on my curves. “Take off your dress,” he says, and I waste no time in grasping the hem and pulling it over my head. I drop it in a puddle on the floor beside me, still feeling sexy as hell in my lingerie and high heels. Not to mention horny as fuck from his ministrations all day long.
“Stand beside the bed.”
I make sure to swing my hips with each step as I sashay over to the bedside. I know I look great in this—I can tell from my reflection in all the windows, which at night seem to act like huge mirrors, reflecting us back at ourselves. I watch him in the reflection as he gazes after me, lust written on every inch of his tortured expression.
I love having that effect on him. At least I’m not the only hungry one here.
“Lie down,” he commands.
I lay across the edge of the bed and shiver in anticipation. He strides across the room toward me, pulling off his suit as he comes. He leaves the tie on, though loosely, but pulls his shirt out from under it, and drops his pants along the way. I can see the strain of his cock from here, desperate and hungry, and I resist the urge to cry out in victory.
Yes. This is it. He’s going to fuck me, finally, and it’s going to be every inch as amazing as it felt when he came in my mouth, or when I came on his hand.
Then he drops to his knees beside the bed, grabs my hips, and pulls me to the edge of the bed. His fingers hook under the lingerie and pull it down, expertly, tossing it to the side. My ass hangs over the edge of the bed, my body splayed across it, and I shiver as the cool air of the penthouse reaches the wet spot at my core.
Pierce doesn’t leave me cold for long. He leans in and trails his tongue up my thighs, one and then the other, blazing a hot, searing path along my skin. I tremble and I groan his name through gritted teeth, which makes him pause and look up, meeting my eye.
“I’ve been waiting to taste you since the moment I first saw you, Bonnie,” he tells me. Then his tongue delves into my pussy, and I arch my back, crying out. He pulls out again, lapping along the crease where my legs meet my hips, coming back now and again to taunt me, digging his tongue deep into me and then circling my clit, teasing.
My head falls back onto the bed, and my hips rise to meet him. I drop my hands to run my fingers through his hair, and when he doesn’t stop me, I clench my fists in his dark, silk-smooth hair and pull him harder against me. He listens, giving me what I want. His tongue dives all along my pussy, licking me slowly from back to front, before he slides his tongue between my lips and wraps his mouth around my clit, sucking hard for a second. I groan, and his tongue circles my clit again, harder, faster.
I lose track of what he’s doing as his hands join the mix. One slides under me to squeeze my ass, hard, and the other presses into my pussy again, his finger curling so the pad digs into the front wall of my vagina. He rubs me hard there, like he’s beckoning me forward, and my body responds, arcing off the bed, my hips rocking with each thrust. His tongue lashes my clit, relentless, and I can’t think straight, it feels too fucking good.
I writhe across the bed, desperate, flying so close to the edge I can taste it. Every time I nearly climax, though, he knows—his hand, splayed across my stomach, feels my muscles tense, and every time, he backs off, his smile widening every time I curse him and wriggle and beg for him to finish me.
Finally, after what feels like forever, he pulls my hips off the bed, hugging me to his face, and licks my clit so hard and so fast, in rapid circles, that I can’t help myself. I scream his name as I crash over the edge into orgasm. My pussy clenches around his finger, still buried inside me, and my body shakes with the force of that peak.
But he’s not ready to stop there.
His tongue keeps going, if anything harder than before, and it’s so much sensation that it almost burns past pleasure into pain. I fist my hands in his hair, torn between pushing him away and wanting more, because I can’t handle this, I’ll go mad from feeling so much at once, but before I can decide, I crash into my next orgasm, groaning aloud, shaking.
He drops my hips back to the bed, and licks one finger, long and slow, eyes on me. Then, without warning, he presses that finger against the entrance to my ass.
“I’m going to claim your ass tonight, Bonnie,” he tells me.
I’m too shaken from the last orgasm to speak yet. All I can do is widen my eyes and gasp, as he gently presses his finger into my ass.
My body is tense, clenched, but he runs his other hand up my chest to stroke the back of my neck gently. “Relax,” he breathes, and I obey, letting go of control.
His finger slides all the way into my ass, starts to glide in and out slowly, and with each stroke, I relax more. This feels good.
Really good, actually. Way better than I expected. Not the way his finger in my pussy felt, all nerves firing and climax impending, but a different kind of sensation, like he’s filling me up.
He pulls his finger out of my ass, and I sigh, half in relief and half in frustration that he’s done already.
Silly me.
He grabs my hips and flips me over onto my stomach, my ass sticking straight up in the air. He lifts my hips and slides a pillow under me, then I feel a sharp sting as he slaps my ass. I gasp, and try to sit up, to glare over my shoulder at him.
He pushes my shoulders back down to the bed, even as I watch him pull a bottle of lube from a drawer beneath the bed and pour a generous helping across his palm. “If you don’t want to do this Bonnie, just tell me and I’ll stop,” he assures me.
I catch his eye, defiant.
I didn’t want to, I remind myself. Before I even met him, this was what I said I wouldn’t try. I wouldn’t let him claim this.
But I think of his finger inside my ass, and his tongue earlier, feeling so much better than I could have imagined. I think of the way he just made me come, over and over again. How good he makes me feel. How he unlocks sensations in me I didn’t even know existed.
He told me he wanted to claim all of my virginities. That’s the price he wanted. So if he fucks my ass now, then he’ll fuck my pussy next, and we’ll be done with this. He’ll have gotten what he wanted, and then I’ll get what I need.
I arc my hips back toward him. “Do it,” I say.
He slaps my ass again, harder. “That’s not how a good little slut asks to be taken,” he reminds me.
I swallow hard and meet his eye. “Fuck my ass, sir. Please.”
He rubs his hand across the spot he just slapped, and the sting fades to a dull throbbing ache. “God, you are so fucking sexy. Do you have any idea what a perfect creature you are?” He trails his other hand down my back, tracing my spine. “You drive me wild, Bonnie. I want to claim every inch of you.”
“I’m yours, Pierce,” I murmur, and even though I said that last time too, it sounds real now. It feels real. I am his, and I want him to take me. Every inch.
He slides a condom over his cock, coating it in the lube at the same time. I turn away and press my face into the pillow, trying to force myself to breathe evenly, to relax. It’s hard, when I don’t know what’s coming. But I remind myself that I trust him.
Weirdly, I trust this random man from the internet. Everything he’s done to me so far has felt amazing. Even the things I never thought I would like, like being called his little slut, or having my ass slapped.
His cock pushes at my entrance, and I clench my fists in the bed sheets, bracing myself.
He pushes inside me slowly. I feel him stretch me, slowly, wider and wider, until I’m groaning into the sheets, my voice half muffled. He leans over me, his abs pressing into my ass, my lower back. I feel him climb onto the bed as he thrusts deeper into my ass, penetrating every inch of me. I cry out again, still muffled, as he finally reaches his hilt. He’s fully inside me, claiming me completely.
“Whose ass is this, Bonnie,” he growls against my ear, and I pant with effort as he starts to pull out of me. It feels painful and pleasurable all at once, like I’m stuffed so full I could burst, but I fucking love it.
“It’s yours, sir,” I groan in response, fists tight around the sheets. “It’s your ass. Take it. Take me.”
“God you’re so fucking tight.” He thrusts into me again, faster this time. “You love feeling me fuck your ass, don’t you Bonnie.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” I claw at the sheets as he pulls away and thrusts again, my body sliding across the bed with the force of his thrust.
“Tell me you fucking love it,” he growls.
“I fucking love you fucking my ass,” I cry out.
His hand dips under me, and I jolt as his finger finds my clit. It feels swollen and strained, like a heavy weight between my legs. Just one touch makes me jump against him, as he thrusts into me again, finding a slow, steady rhythm. “You’re going to come for me now, Bonnie. Like a good little slut, you’re going to come with my dick in your ass.”
He fingers me faster, and I buck under him. He keeps fucking me, slowly speeding up, his balls slapping against my pussy with each deep thrust. Before I know it, I’m already on the edge, crying out as I spill over into an orgasm. He doesn’t stop, just keeps fingering and thrusting, his cock filling my ass. I bite down hard on the sheets and come again, then again. I lose track of how many orgasms I’ve had.
Finally, he drops his hand from my clit, grabs my hips with both hands instead and fucks me with abandon. He drills into me until I feel his abs tense against my skin, and hear his breath go hard and wild in my ear.
“Come inside me,” I gasp, and arch my hips to thrust back against him. “Come in my ass.”
He grits his teeth and groans as he finishes, his body bucking against mine, filling me with his hot cum. When he collapses across me, I reach back to tangle my hands in his hair, and lean over my shoulder to find his mouth with mine. I kiss him, hard, and he kisses me back, his lips parting beneath mine. Our tongues intertwine, and in that moment, I think, I could not have chosen a better man for my first.
He pulls out with a sigh, and I know exactly how he feels. I want to keep feeling that way forever. Utterly and completely connected to him. I am his . . . and he is mine.
I shake myself. No. I can’t start to think that way. That’s dangerous.
That road leads only to heartbreak.
I slide off the bed and pad across the penthouse to the bathroom. It’s every inch as glorious as the rest of the place, and I take my time, finding that it’s already been stocked with everything we could need. Brand new toothbrushes still in the cases, five kinds of toothpaste to choose from, dozens of soaps and lotions and even a second toilet with some kind of water spout on top of it that I eventually realize must be a bidet.
When I finish taking a quick shower and washing my face and brushing my teeth, I slip into the nightgown I find waiting on the back of the bathroom door. It’s silky and see-through and clings in all the right places, yet somehow feels amazing against my bare skin.
Feeling deliciously sore, yet still aching for more, I pad back across the penthouse to find him curled on his side, dozing on the edge of the bed.
I curl up on the other side, but only after I pull the comforter over his exposed chest.
Then I lie on my side and stare at the distant window, thinking.
Why did he fuck my ass first? I thought by now, surely after a night like tonight, he would have wanted to fuck my pussy. He said he’d make it special for me, since it was my first time, but I couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting for my first. So why delay? Why not take me and be done with this?
My eyes drift shut, unable to remain open after such a long night of sensations. But the question continues to swirl in my mind, restless, even as my body surrenders to sleep.
