Debt Inheritance

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, thrusting his finger harder.

I felt as if I’d not been living. As if my world was dark and Jethro was the sun bringing me nutrition I never knew I needed.

A painful pressure burned as he tried to fit two fingers inside me.

I flinched, rocking my hips away. “Stop—”

He paused, then removed the second digit, driving a single finger deep, dragging me back to willing. “You’re a virgin. The rumours were true.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“No?” He grabbed my chin, holding me firm, driving his finger harder. I cried out, letting my head loll on my useless neck with bliss. “How are you this tight and not a virgin?”

“Once. I only—” I stopped, consumed with every pulse of Jethro’s finger. “I’m—”

I gave up.

I was completely illiterate—unable to form words.

“If you’re not a virgin, prove it.” His fingers tightened around my chin. “Pull out my cock.”

My mind blanked out. I hung onto the precipice of my good girl ways before throwing myself head first into a woman who would do anything to feel alive.

“Pull out my cock, Ms. Weaver.” He thrust against me, battering me with the hardness in his jeans.

My eyes flared wide. My stomach hollowed out at the same time swooped upright as he thrust his finger.

“Goddammit,” he growled. “Do it. I’m not going to come in my fucking jeans like an idiot.”

Would he fuck me? If I took out his cock, would he take me?

Sex? With him?

I…

I couldn’t have sex with him. This cold-hearted monster. But my raging heart and bubbling blood said yes. God, yes.

Shutting off my thoughts, I dropped my hands from his shoulders and fumbled with the buckle of his crocodile belt.

The hardness of his erection burned my fingertips. Jethro didn’t help my concentration, driving his touch deeper. “Hurry up. I need your sweet fingers jerking me off. Goddammit, I don’t know—” His voice cut off as I undid his button and zipper.

I gasped as his cock sprang out, escaping the top of his grey boxer-briefs. He shuddered, groaning in relief. The tip glistened with wetness, slightly red, slightly swollen.

My eyes grew wide, fear chasing away the lust in my veins. I looked up, swallowing hard. “You’re…I can’t—”

He scowled. “Too late to back out now, woman.” Grabbing my hand, he placed it roughly around his thick hard massive cock. I had no experience to go on, but he would never fit inside me. He wouldn’t fit inside any woman.

“Shut up and stroke me.”

I opened my mouth, unable to form words. “It can’t—there’s no way—”

In a lightning fast move, he jerked his finger from my core, smearing my dampness on my cheek as he pinched me hard. “You’re out of excuses, Ms. Weaver. You were the one who started this. You’re the one who rode my fucking finger as if you’d never come before.” His voice dropped to a dark whisper. “So shut up, wrap those little fingers around my cock and stroke me, otherwise I swear to God I’ll throw you on your hands and knees and fuck your tight little cunt right here.”

My heart lurched, terror pinged in my blood. There wouldn’t be anything erotic about that. It would hurt. He would split me in two.

Biting my lip, I cupped the exposed head, spreading the sticky residue at the top down his hot shaft. Locking eyes with Jethro, I pushed my hand into his boxers, following his long, long length.

His eyes snapped closed as my timid fingers latched round him. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned. His forehead smashed against mine, hips pulsating into my hand. “Stop taunting me. Harder, goddammit.”

That was asking for the impossible. I couldn’t get my fingers to connect around his girth. My grip was useless around the throbbing heat—the only hot part of him. Holding my breath, I wrapped my hold as hard as I could.

Jethro grunted. “Squeeze it. Stop being a fucking tease. Was I teasing you?” His hand suddenly disappeared up my dress again, his middle finger thrusting so hard and quick inside me, he sent a galaxy of stars exploding behind my eyes.

Then he glided upward, smearing the wetness around my clit. My legs tried to scissor closed; all my attention shot between my legs.

I went rigid. Having him touch me inside was amazing. Having him rub that small bundle of nerves was incredible.

“Return the favour, Ms. Weaver. Make me come. Right here. Right now. And I'll drive you so wild you’ll beg and never want anyone else.”

Coming. The blissful end of sex. Was that what the sharp sensation was? Growing tighter and tighter in my core? If it was, I wanted to come.

Badly.

Winding my fingers as tight as possible around his girth, I squeezed until a jagged pain erupted down my palm. I didn’t have the strength. I didn’t know what to do. Did I just squeeze and let him thrust into my hand? What else was I supposed to do?

With a low growl, Jethro stopped stroking my clit. He turned to granite. “That’s your idea of making me come?”

I swallowed, jerking my hand away, dropping my eyes. The thrill of being touched and touching faded, rapidly replaced with despair. “I’m—yes…uh.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Rolling his eyes, he removed his hand from between my legs and stepped back. With a grunt, he yanked his trousers back into place, but not before I caught a glimpse of just how huge his cock was. It was flawlessly straight, veiny, silky, so proud and rigid—just like its owner.

It terrified me.

I didn’t need to be a virgin or a world renowned slut to know there was no way he would fit inside me. No law on this planet would make me welcome his size.

“Fuck, what was I thinking? You’re useless. Completely fucking useless.” Buckling his belt, he ran his hands through his hair, smearing the lingering wetness from me through his silvering strands. “Huge disappointment, Ms. Weaver.” His cold glare sent a snowstorm wiping away the bonfire in my belly. “I’m done playing games, so cut the bullshit. Time to begin the day.” His voice gave no room for interpretation. A cold draft shot down my back.

My brief reprieve from debts and horrible Hawks was over. I’d been shown something I desperately wanted, but denied it because I failed to please him.

“You could teach me…show me how…” I couldn’t make eye contact with him. Mortification painted my cheeks for both admitting I was clueless and asking a monster to coach me.