Chapter Fourteen #2
And then he pulled them down further and revealed even more of the first erection I’d ever seen that wasn’t my own.
How the ever-loving hell had that fit inside me last night?
Without leaving me in a state of incredible disrepair, at best. A long, thick shaft, an even thicker rosy head, smooth and glossy.
Without my curse spurring me on it ought to have sent me running and screaming.
Instead, my mouth watered and my hole clenched, and my fingers clawed into the mattress.
He got out of his breeches without leaving the bed, a performance that should’ve been ridiculously ungraceful—except that this was Stefan, and he couldn’t have been ungraceful if he’d tried, and every motion made that massive cock sway, pulling down from its own weight. His heavy balls swung with it.
“You’ve seen another man before, surely,” he said as he picked up the bottle.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “Yes, but not like this.”
His hand, now slick with oil, wrapped around his cock. I swallowed hard as it stroked up and down, making the whole shaft shiny. Even his big hand couldn’t make it look small.
Stefan leaned down, slipping that hand between my legs, circling the rim of my hole with slippery fingers. His eyes flicked from mine to my lips, and then down, his expression serious, as if he meant to catalogue every involuntary jerk of my hips, every hitch in my breath.
He worked me open slowly, far too slowly, and my own erection, almost forgotten while he stripped, throbbed insistently with every motion of his fingers.
Our eyes met. And held, and I lost myself in the way he’d fixed those gleaming dark eyes on me—as if he truly saw me.
As if he wanted me, and not simply the novelty of an almost-virgin body with a curse that made me desperate for him.
His fingers worked in me, twisting gently, prodding at all of those secret places that I couldn’t quite believe someone else ought to touch, every stroke sending shivers and sparks shooting up my spine, and all the while he never broke that connection of our eyes, like the completion of a galvanic circuit.
At last he lowered himself down, disengaging his hand and positioning himself between my legs. The head of his cock brushed behind my balls, and then he pushed forward, letting it barely press me open.
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, and stroked his clean hand over my cheek and up, pushing my hair off my sweaty forehead. “If it hurts, even the slightest bit, I’ll stop and wait. Use my fingers again. Don’t try to suffer through it, Remi. It shouldn’t hurt.”
He guided his cock into me, slowly pressing inside, swallowing my gasps with kisses and tender, whispered encouragement.
“That’s good, Remi, you’re perfect,” he said softly, and thrust a little further, thick and solid, a bizarre sensation.
Nothing had been there before, except for briefly last night when I’d been too fevered to properly experience it, and now this stiff thing had stretched my hole, going deeper and deeper, making me squirm around the intrusion and grasp onto Stefan’s biceps for leverage so that I didn’t writhe out of my own skin.
Another kiss stole my breath, and then with one final thrust, he buried himself all the way to the hilt. His hipbones dug into my inner thighs, and the roughness of his hair tickled my balls. All the times I’d desperately tried to conjure what this might be like, and I’d never once thought of that.
A hysterical giggle welled up, bringing tears to my eyes, or maybe that was from the overwhelming pressure of his cock inside me and his body weighing me down into the bed and the heat of him and how I didn’t know how to move, what to do—but the sound came out as a helpless moan when he shifted his hips.
“Do you like that? When I do this?” He moved again, tilting more than rocking, pushing his cock against some hitherto unknown part of me that liked it very much, and iridescent stars burst behind my eyelids.
My fingers dug into his arms with bruising force, my hands painfully stiff.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he purred, and pulled back for a breath—almost long enough for me to wonder if he meant to stop—before he thrust down and filled me to the brim, and then again, and again, and again.
My head fell back and he bit at my throat, never losing his rhythm, hips moving like a piston, muscles bunching under my hands, everything inside me hollowed out to fit that huge, perfect cock and the friction of each push and pull tugging on my too-sensitive flesh.
He had me almost folded in half, knees bent, big body moving over me, all I could see or feel or hear, his rough breaths and the obscene squelch of his cock in my wet hole and the creak and rustle of the bed. If he went any deeper he’d drill straight through my spine.
My own breaths were coming out almost as sobs, the pressure inside me ratcheting up until my lungs couldn’t expand, and then Stefan groaned and stilled, head hanging down and shoulders as tense as muscled boulders.
Last night I’d known when he finished, because it’d been the end of the pain. But I hadn’t focused on every sensation, on the ticklish heat of his spend or the shudder that went through him—and then into me, a wave of sympathetic climax.
But it couldn’t quite bring me to my own again, not after spending twice in a row already, and my cock ached with need for…
a touch, yes, I needed to be touched! I unclamped my right hand from his arm, reached between us, and gripped my cock, tipping myself after him and coming in tight, quick bursts that stole what breath I had remaining.
I sank into the mattress, limp and panting and quivering, stomach smeared with come and sweat.
Consciousness of the rest of my body slowly returned to me as my heart slowed: the ache in my thighs where Stefan had me spread around his hips, the ache in my hole where he still had his cock buried inside me, the ache in my fingers that had held on to him so tightly.
And my consciousness of the sweetness of every one of those aches, an incipient pleasure that would only build as I sat up, as I stood and tried to limp around, as I took a bath and let the hot water lap at every strained and bruised and pleasured bit of me.
Stefan lifted his head at last, and our eyes met—and I realized why he’d taken so long to show me his face. He’d adjusted his expression back to its neutral mask, any trace of whatever emotion he might have felt smoothed away.
“I’m going to disengage very slowly,” he said. “That can be uncomfortable if you’re not used to it. Hold still and let me, if you please.”
His gentle tone didn’t change the fact that that was a command, and so I bit my lip and lay there without moving as he carefully pulled out of me, an unnerving sensation in itself, like being emptied out.
And then I bit down harder to keep in a whimper of shock and dismay as a hot trickle of his come ran down the crease of my ass.
I should’ve expected that; where else would it go, after all? But I hadn’t expected it. The sheets would be disgusting. Aldrich would see, and the laundry maid would know. Oh, gods.
Closing my eyes wouldn’t prevent Stefan from seeing the aftermath of what he’d done to me and to my previously neat and tidy bed, but it would prevent me from seeing him see me. Pale and sprawled and sweaty, my red hair all matted and damp, bodily fluids everywhere…I put my hands over my eyes.
“Remi? Are you well? Look at me.”
That command I absolutely would not obey. “I’m perfectly well,” I managed to mutter. “I promise. Please just—please—”
The bed creaking as he climbed off of it didn’t quite drown out his deep sigh. “I’ll go, then,” he said. “I assume that’s what you’re trying to ask me.”
It was, and yet I didn’t want him to! I wanted him to stay, and while he stayed, somehow reassure me that he didn’t find me as disgusting and awkward as I’d started to find myself now that the intoxication of desire had cleared away like fog and left my mind functional again.
But even if I’d been willing to voice any of those wishes, I had no idea how. And so I lay there in mute, tense misery as he gathered up his clothes and put himself to rights.
His footsteps moved away and then stopped. I could feel his gaze on me even without taking my hands from my eyes. “Do you want me to send Aldrich to you?” he asked.
“I’ll call him myself when I’m ready,” I said.
Another pause. “All right. Are you sure you don’t want me to—I’ll go. I’ll let you know when I hear from Benedict. And we’ll need to talk soon, Remi. About everything. Once you’re feeling better.”
The door opened and then closed.
I waited, and a moment later, his footsteps retreated down the hallway.
At last, I relaxed into the bed, let my hands drop by my sides, and opened my eyes.
A beam of sunlight, reflected from the shiny wood floor, spread across the whitewashed ceiling. I stared up at it, regulating my breathing, and at last sat up slowly and moved toward the bath. Every motion made me think of Stefan.
And I had the terrible, sinking worry that even if I washed away the traces he’d left on my body, no amount of bathing would erase him from my mind.