The Virgin

“You like pain?” he whispered as he thrust again, right into the core of her.

“Yes...please...” she breathed. Oui...s’il vous plaît.

“So do I.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you do.”

How she knew, he didn’t know. He didn’t care either, now that he was inside her. He placed his hands next to her shoulders and rode her with long, slow, hard thrusts.

“I want to fuck every part of you,” he said as the heat of her surrounded his cock, enveloped it.

“You can.”

“Does he fuck you like this? Does he make it hurt?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You like it?”

“Yes...”

“Does it feel this good?”

“Nothing feels this good,” she said, and he heard a note of regret in her voice. Regret? But why? He was too far gone in lust to ask.

He grasped her breasts in both hands and squeezed them. Her fingers caught into the white fabric under her and inside her a muscle pushed back against him. It was too much. He almost came from that alone. With a grunt of frustration, he pulled out of Juliette’s body and brought his mouth down onto her, licking and kissing her wet seam. The lips parted for him and he pushed his tongue up and into her. She writhed under his mouth, twisted and groaned. He knew he was hurting her. He also knew she wanted him to hurt her. Her clitoris swelled against his tongue even as he bruised her hips with his hands as he pinned her hard to the bed.

He yanked her to him and shoved his cock back inside her, impaling her hard and deep. She rewarded him with a cry of pleasure tinged with pain. When she slammed her hands against his chest he grabbed them, pinned them behind her back and pushed into her with a punishing thrust.

“You want this,” he said, fucking her with abandon now. Every muscle in his hips had coiled into the tightest knot of need and pressure.

“No,” she said, even as she pushed back against him to take him deeper.

“Liar.” He pushed her onto her back once again and forced her legs even wider. It wasn’t enough. Not matter what he did he couldn’t fuck her hard enough, get into her deep enough. He forced her legs around him, rose up over her and mounted her again. It was so rare that he could let himself go entirely with a woman, let himself fuck her as roughly as he wanted to. But whatever he gave her, she took. She came with a cry as he filled her and came again not long after. He dug his hand into her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled, bending her body, forcing it into greater submission to his.

They were a tangle of limbs on the bed, limbs and flesh and bodies entwined so fully, joined so deeply, that it was as if they were sealed together. The heat had melted and merged them. They weren’t even human now, but sex in its rawest, purest form. Juliette had gone silent underneath him even as she worked herself against him with hungry thrusts of her hips. When she came again with a shudder and inner contractions so hard they hurt him, he rammed his own orgasm into her.

At last they were still. His body. Her body. Neither of them moved for any reason but to breathe. He was still inside her, reluctant to leave her even though he needed to. He needed to pull out, pull away, remember who he was and why he was here. He needed space, time, rational thinking, something.

Or he could just fuck her again.

He lifted himself off her, stood up and threw the condom away. Juliette remained on the bed, flat on her back, staring at him. Her legs were still splayed wide. An open invitation.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked when he rejoined her on the bed. The mosquito netting surrounded them like a cloud. It was all too easy to believe they were alone in the world.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

She slipped a hand between her legs and when she held it up to him, he saw a blood smear on her fingertips. He’d fucked her so hard he’d made her bleed. There were two ways to respond to such a situation. One was to apologize. That was the vanilla way. He didn’t respond the vanilla way. He responded the Kingsley way.

“Good thing you have two other holes,” he said.

“I’m yours,” she said with a tired smile. “Make me yours in every way.”

“But only tonight?”

She nodded and whispered, “Only tonight.”

“What if tonight isn’t enough?”

“It has to be,” she said.

“Then start praying,” Kingsley said.

“Praying for what?”

“That this night never ends.”

Juliette came to her knees in front of him. She touched his naked chest with her hands, kissed the scar over his heart, looked up at him.

“That is my only prayer,” she whispered.

Kingsley took her face in his hands and forced her mouth to his. He kissed her with a hunger he’d forgotten he could feel for anyone who wasn’t Søren or Elle. He’d thought with them he’d reached the end of his passion, that he’d bottomed out in them and given all he had. But with Juliette he found a new reserve of desire, a deeper hunger, a longing to have something with her he had with no one else. He pushed his tongue past her lips and into her warm mouth. She tasted of salt and ocean water and the more he drank of her the more he needed to drink. He would never be quenched of his thirst for her.

“Juliette...” he murmured against her lips. “My Juliette, my jewel.” She shivered in his arms.

“Your name is Kingsley?” she asked. “It’s your real name?”