The Billionaire's Virgin(45)

Holding the condom in one hand, he flicked open the button of his pants with the other, tugging down the zipper, getting his cock out.

She was panting, her dark eyes dipping down and widening. He wanted to say something, reassure her somehow, but he couldn’t find any words. It had always been easy to say something, he’d never cared what came out of his mouth, but now? There was nothing. He couldn’t think of a single thing.

So he stayed quiet as he ripped open the condom packet and protected himself. Said nothing as he roughly pulled away her sweatpants and panties. He wanted to pause then, to look at her, naked and panting beneath him, but there was no time. Just no fucking time.

He came down over her, sliding his arms around and under her, cradling her. The heat of her body blanked his mind, winding his desperation even tighter. Pushing his hips between her thighs, he pressed his cock against the hot, slick flesh of her pussy. She gasped as he rocked slightly, hitting her clit.

Take it slow, asshole.

Christ, he was trying. But that gasp went straight through him and he couldn’t stop himself from rocking against her again and again, pressing a little harder, then bending to find her mouth and kissing her. Because it wasn’t enough, it just wasn’t enough.

He was hungry, fucking starving. For her taste in his mouth and the musky, delicious scent of her arousal in his nostrils, the feel of her skin against his and the heat of her pussy wrapped tightly around him. It was like there was a hole inside him and he needed her to fill it up. All of her. Every-fucking-thing she had to give.

He slid his tongue into her mouth, kissing her harder, deeper, all thoughts about going slowly and being gentle fraying under the sheer weight of his desperation. She was trembling, her palms resting against his chest, and he could feel her try to kiss him back. She was shy, tentative, her inexperience so obvious, and he found it so incredibly hot that it only made him want her even more.

Slow it down, you prick. You know you hurt people when you don’t think.

His breath sawed in and out, a harsh sound, and he tried, he tried so goddamn hard to hold onto what little restraint he had left. But she was so hot and her own breathing was out of control, and when he shifted again, easing the head of his cock against the entrance of her pussy, all that wet heat was too much for him.

Sliding a hand down underneath her, he lifted her then flexed his hips, thrusting in deep and hard, taking the cry she made into his mouth.

She went rigid beneath him.

Too fast, you bastard. You hurt her.

The thought was fleeting, incandescent for a brief second, and then it was gone because the tight grip of her pussy around his cock had pretty much annihilated him. He shuddered, trying to hold still and not to move, giving her some time to get used to him as he kissed along her jaw to her ear. “Easy,” he murmured, rough and hoarse, trying to reassure her. “Easy, sweet thing.”

She whimpered, her body twisting underneath his as if trying to find some kind of relief.

Christ, he could barely hold himself together, could barely think, because her little pussy was pulsing around him and the movements she was making were driving him insane. But again he tried, forcing himself to get it together.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her again, nuzzling down her neck to her throat, licking the sweat that gleamed on her damp skin. “I couldn’t wait. I just . . . want you. God, you feel so good.”

She twisted again. “It . . . hurts.” The words were cracked and barely audible, but he heard them.

That’s what you do isn’t it? You hurt people. Because you just don’t fucking think.

A bone-deep fear wound through the heat, and he held her tighter against him, lifting his head to look down into her face, his heartbeat going like a fucking drum in his head. She was deeply flushed, her eyes huge and black, and he could see the pain in them and the fear, loud as a shout.

“Why do you always do this? Why do you always do the one thing that will hurt me the most?”

The echo of another voice, at another time, resonated beneath his thundering pulse, and his throat went so tight he could hardly breathe. She was so soft, this woman. So vulnerable and breakable, and fragile. What the hell had he done?

But he couldn’t think of that, not here, not with her. What he had to do was make this better, make her feel good, take the pain away. And not fuck up. Not again.

He bent, brushing his lips over hers, trying to find the patience he’d had before, the gentleness he’d found with her. “I know,” he said raggedly. “I’ll make it better. I’ll make you feel good. I promise.”

Then she shifted again beneath him, another restless movement, and he shuddered at the pleasure that roared in his head. “Oh Jesus . . .” The words were little more than a gasp. “I have to move. I have to.” The need was irresistible, and he was drawing his hips back then pushing in again before he could stop himself.