“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking tight,” I moaned.
“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” she asked in a challenge. “Fuck me and stop acting like a pansy. Unless, that is, you’re worried you’ll come too soon. Jesus, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the virgin here.” It was the most she’d said since greeting me when I came home. Her voice was off, betraying her exertion, but she was determined to push my buttons.
You’d think a comment like that would obliterate my erection. But it didn’t. It just made me unbearably harder, if that was possible. There was just something about her mouth and the way she challenged me that turned me on. I was a sick bastard. But I didn’t really give a fuck because she was feeding my already scorching need for her.
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have said that,” I shot back, then pulled all the way out, only to thrust back into her again.
She hissed between her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. I made short movements in and out, not really wanting to hurt her, but not caring if it felt good to her, either. She was mine, there for my pleasure, and I was going to make sure she knew I hadn’t forgotten about that.
“This is my pussy, Delaine. My fingers were the first to touch it, my mouth the first to taste it, and my cock will always be the first to fuck it. And for the rest of your life, the memory of having me this deep inside you will always be on your mind. No other man will ever compare. I have officially marked my territory. My pussy. Do you understand?”
Her nails were digging into my skin where she was holding on for dear life, and her teeth were clenched, but she still managed to eke out, “Last time I checked, it was attached to my body.”
“Wrong answer.” I thrust deep, not hard enough to hurt her, just enough to get her attention.
She gasped. “Jesus Christ!”
“I think you know that’s not my name. Try again.”
I kept moving inside her, feeling the pressure build up within me quickly. My balls were aching, begging for the release, but I couldn’t give in yet.
Her nails dug into the skin on my back and she pushed her hips upward with a growl. Her teeth were still clenched and her thighs clamped down on my hips as she met my thrusts. I had to give it to her—I was impressed. I knew she was uncomfortable, possibly even in pain, but she wasn’t giving in.
“Say … it!” I growled back at her, punctuating each word with a deep thrust.
Her breath caught, but she met my eyes in challenge. Another hard thrust and I heard her whimper. “It’s yours! My pussy is yours, Noah Crawford!”
That was all I needed to hear. With one more deep thrust, I came, grunting out my own orgasm. I let all of my weight fall on top of her and kissed her, groaning into her mouth as I pumped my hips sporadically until I had no more seed to give. She kissed me back hungrily, attempting to dominate the kiss, to prove a point that didn’t even need to be proven, as much as it pained me to admit it. She could keep up with me, tit for motherfucking tat. And if she could do that her very first time, I was in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.
Lanie
That hurt insanely! Do you hear me? Insanely!
It wasn’t so bad when he first pushed into me. Having been in midorgasm and caught totally unaware that he was planning to do it probably helped. I was just stunned. But I was relieved that the whole popping of the cherry thing was finally done, even though the Cooch had taken quite a beating.
It was when Noah kept stopping that I got pissed off. The longer he took to get it over with, the more uncomfortable I was going to be. Or so I thought. Because once he got going, that feeling of being completely filled was actually pretty close to the best thing I had ever felt. I had known it was going to hurt because he was inhumanly huge and all, but feeling that raw power between my thighs and taking it like a trouper made me feel like a superwoman.
And then I had to go and open my big mouth and challenge him. I guess I was a nitwit with a penchant for punishment; one of those sickos who just couldn’t admit defeat, even though I knew I was being outscrewed, as it were. Like a rookie cop on the scene of a bloodbath in progress who rushes in with their gun all half-cocked, thinking they’re going to take down career criminals.
A supercop I was not, but Double Agent Coochie was donning her cape and knee-high red leather boots like she was some kind of superhero, complete with neon blue unitard and gold belt with a flaming red C emblazoned on her chest.
I guess she missed the memo that we’d just had our asses handed to us.
Noah rolled over onto his back and pulled me into his arms until I was half lying on his chest. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded, not really sure what to say. I didn’t want to admit that it had hurt. I didn’t want to admit that it had been a complete turn-on. I didn’t want to admit that there were parts of it that I had really and thoroughly enjoyed. So I stayed mute.
Wonder Cooch, on the other hand, was already kicked back with a cigarette, blowing smoke rings with a satisfied smile on her face.
“It’ll get better,” he said, tenderly running his hand up and down my arm, which only made me curl my leg over his thigh and snuggle into him. Like the two-faced whore that I apparently was.
I could hear his heart beating hard and fast in his chest, and my head rose and fell with his heavy breathing. A light sheen of sweat covered his skin, and without thinking, I tasted him with an openmouthed kiss. That kiss led to another, and then another until I had his nipple in my mouth.
“You probably don’t want to do that, Delaine,” he said, all breathy and sexy-like. “I have a pretty quick recovery time, and I’m sure you’re nowhere near ready for another round.”
Noah’s fingers drew lazy patterns down my spine and over my ass before retracing the trail on the way back up to my neck. His breathing was becoming normal and his heartbeat, although still prominent, was evening out.
“I need a cigarette.” He sighed and moved a little beneath me, so I backed away from him so that he could sit up on the side of the bed. He grabbed a cigarette and his lighter from the nightstand and lit it, exhaling the smoke as he turned toward me.
“You might feel better if you take a hot bath. I’ll go run some water for you.” He got up and strutted toward the bathroom.
There was something in his face that I couldn’t quite discern. Did he regret what we had done? Part of me knew that couldn’t be it, but I’d seen him in this mode before, after the gyno visit. And then it occurred to me: he might not have regretted taking my virginity, but he sure did feel responsible for my discomfort, and now he was trying to take care of me.