Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dominic
The sight of her beneath me, eyes half-lidded and mouth parted in pleasure, is almost more than I can bear.
Christ, she feels so fucking incredible, so perfect around me.
I nearly died holding still while she adjusted to my size.
When I first pushed into her, that initial breach, I hurt her so badly while experiencing the most intense pleasure of my life.
Her tears nearly broke me in half—the conflict between wanting to stop and needing to continue almost tore me apart.
But now she's moaning beneath me, telling me what she wants like a good girl, her body responding to mine in ways that make me dizzy with need.
Her tight heat clenches around me with each careful thrust, and I've never felt anything so exquisite, so devastatingly perfect.
I bring my hand to her ass, fingers sinking into her soft flesh, angling her hips toward me a little more, seeking that perfect position that will bring her maximum pleasure without any pain.
She digs her nails into my back, the sharp sting only heightening my arousal, pushing me further toward the edge I'm desperately trying to avoid falling over too soon.
"Dominic," she moans, and my full name falling from her lips is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard—three syllables that have never sounded so right, so perfect.
"Fuck, baby. Say it again," I groan, needing to hear it once more, craving the way my name sounds wrapped in her pleasure.
"Dominic," she repeats, voice breaking with need, the word coming out on a trembling exhale that shakes something loose inside me.
I shift my weight to one arm, the muscles straining as I hold myself above her, supporting my weight so I don't crush her delicate frame.
With my other hand, I reach between us, replacing her fingers with mine.
I find her swollen clit and circle it with my thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp, to make her inner walls clench even tighter around me.
"Oh god," she cries out, and I almost lose it right then and there. Her back arches beautifully, pushing her perfect breasts against my chest, her hardened nipples dragging against my skin in a way that makes me want to devour her.
"More, please," she moans, and who am I to deny her anything? I'd give her the fucking world if she asked for it in that voice.
I begin thrusting harder, my movements powerful but still measured. I'm trying desperately to hold back so I don't hurt her again. Even now, with her writhing beneath me in obvious pleasure, I'm terrified of causing her pain, of seeing those tears return to her beautiful eyes.
She matches my movements perfectly, lifting her hips to meet mine, creating a natural rhythm like we were made for each other. We fit together as if designed by the same hand, two pieces of a puzzle finally united after searching an entire lifetime.
"Fuck, you’re going to come again." I tell her, feeling her inner walls beginning to flutter around me. "I feel you getting tighter."
"I'm so close," she whispers, her voice thick with need, her eyes locked on mine with such trust it steals my breath.
I move faster, so fucking thankful I can finally thrust into her fully now.
Holding back was pure torture, like denying myself heaven when it was right there for the taking.
I want to lose myself in her completely, to brand her as mine from the inside out.
The thought that I'm the only man who's ever been inside her, who's ever felt this perfect clutch of her body, drives me to the edge of madness, fills me with a primal possessiveness I've never experienced before.
"Dominic, I'm going to—" She doesn't finish her sentence as her body goes rigid beneath me, the words dissolving into a cry of pleasure that echoes through the room.
She begins choking my cock with her muscles, clamping around me so tight it's almost painful—a sweet, exquisite pain I never want to end.
Her entire body convulses as she comes apart, and I'm barely holding on, gritting my teeth against the overwhelming need to follow her over the edge.
But I refuse to come until she's finished, until she's taken everything she needs from me.
I want this to last as long as possible, want to memorize every flutter of her inner walls, every soft sound from her throat, every expression that crosses her beautiful face.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful when you come," I tell her, watching her face transform with pleasure, committing every detail to memory.
When she finally comes down from her high, she leans up and kisses me wildly, all tongue and teeth and desperate need. The last thread of my control snaps like a wire pulled too tight, and I begin to chase my own release with single-minded intensity.
"Christ, I can't last," I groan against her mouth, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me.
I pull back and drive into her with fierce, relentless precision while she whimpers and moans beneath me.
Each breathless sound that escapes her lips fuels something primal within me.
My hips snap forward with an almost desperate rhythm, claiming her utterly, completely, in the most ancient way possible.
The pressure builds relentlessly at the base of my spine, heat and tension coiling tighter with each thrust. Her walls grip me like a silken vice, pulsing around me, demanding everything I have to give.
When she looks up at me with those wide, trusting eyes—eyes that somehow see past my carefully constructed walls—something fundamental breaks loose inside me.
"Mother fucker!" I roar as I explode inside of her, the pleasure so overwhelming it borders on unbearable, shorting out every rational thought in my brain.
My entire body convulses as I empty myself into her, marking her from the inside in the most visceral way possible. I continue thrusting, drawing out each exquisite pulse of my release, unwilling to let this moment end.
Every movement sends electric aftershocks radiating through my nervous system, making my vision blur at the edges until all I can see clearly is her face beneath me.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails leaving scratches in my skin, her body trembling as she accepts everything I'm giving her.
In this moment, buried deep inside her warmth, I feel a profound completeness I've never experienced before.
The fog of pleasure slowly clears, and reality crashes into me like ice water.
No condom. Shit. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?
In thirty-eight years, I've never—not once—forgotten protection.
Never lost control like this. Never let my guard down so completely that I'd risk something this fundamental.
My heart hammers against my ribs as the magnitude of what I've just done settles in.
"Skye," I say, my voice rougher than I intend.
Still buried inside her, I brace myself on my forearms, studying her face.
"Are you on birth control?" Her eyes widen slightly, and I watch the same realization dawn across her features. For a moment, neither of us breathes.
"The pill," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I've been on the pill for years. For... other reasons." The tension in my shoulders eases slightly, but the weight of my loss of control still sits heavy in my chest.
"Good. That's... good. Are you okay?" I ask, still not wanting to move. The weight of what just happened between us settles around us like a blanket—intimate and warm, a physical connection that seems to reach beyond our bodies and into something more fundamental.
She smiles up at me, her eyes soft and slightly unfocused, a dreamy haze transforming her features. "More than okay."
"Good," I whisper and dip down to kiss her again because apparently I can't get enough of this girl.
Her lips are so soft, and she kisses me like she's starving, opening immediately to me.
Something about the way she responds—so honest, so uninhibited—makes it impossible to get my fill of her.
Each taste only intensifies my need for more.
I feel myself starting to harden again inside of her.
Christ, it's like I'm a teenager again instead of a grown man approaching forty.
My body craves her with an intensity that defies logic and experience.
But she can't take anymore tonight—not after what we just did, not after I just took her virginity.
Her body needs time to recover before claiming her again.
I pull back reluctantly, my body protesting the separation my mind knows is necessary.
"Let me get a washcloth to clean you up," I say and start pulling out of her. She hisses at the movement, her tender flesh obviously sensitive, the small sound cutting through me like a blade.
"I'm sorry," I say, kissing her again, genuinely pained at the thought of hurting her further. The need to care for her overwhelms even my desire—a new and unexpected priority.
Before I can get up, she stops me with a hand on my face. Her touch is gentle but insistent, fingers warm against my stubbled jaw.
"Don't," she says. "Don't go. Just stay for a minute."
"I wasn't leaving," I tell her, brushing her hair back from her forehead, savoring the silky texture between my fingertips. "Just cleaning you up."
"I like it," she says, her voice a soft confession in the dimly lit room, eyes holding mine with unexpected boldness.
"What?" I ask, though something primal in me already knows the answer, anticipation building in my chest.
"The feel of you leaking out of me," she says, and god damn this girl.
How can she be so innocent and so fucking filthy at the same time?
The combination is lethal, stirring something possessive and primitive in my chest. "Come here," I say, pulling her into me.
She tucks her head under my chin and snuggles against me, fitting perfectly against my larger frame.
I pull her closer, draping her leg around me, and it just feels so right—like she was designed to fit against me this way, every curve and hollow of her body complementing mine with mathematical precision.
"Thank you," I whisper into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo mixed with the heavier, muskier scent of sex—our scent, combined and intoxicating.
"For what?" she asks, her words slightly slurred with approaching sleep, warm breath tickling my chest.
"For trusting me with your virginity," I say, still stunned that she gave me something so precious, something I didn't deserve but will forever treasure. The weight of that gift sits heavy in my chest—responsibility and privilege intertwined.
"Thank you for taking care of me," she says sleepily, her breath warm against my chest, her body growing heavier as she drifts toward unconsciousness.
"Always," I say and run my fingers through her hair until she begins to snore softly, the gentle rhythm oddly captivating.
I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing despite my body's exhaustion.
The textured plaster above becomes a blank canvas for my thoughts.
I've had sex countless times in my life—good sex, forgettable sex, arrangement sex—but nothing like this.
Nothing that hollowed me out and filled me back up simultaneously.
Nothing that felt like coming home to a place I didn't know existed.
The foundation of something significant has been laid tonight.
I think I even doze off a few times, lulled by her steady breathing and the warmth of her body against mine, my usual vigilance softened by her presence.
But then after a while, reluctance weighing heavy in my chest, I have to slip out because I can't be caught in her room in the morning.
I carefully untangle our limbs, pausing when she stirs slightly, holding my breath until she settles.
She makes a small noise of protest when I leave the bed, reaching for me even in her sleep, fingers grasping at empty air. I press a kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than I should, memorizing the scent of her skin.
"Sleep, baby," I whisper, covering her with the blanket, tucking it carefully around her shoulders to replace my body's warmth.
She settles back down, and I stand there watching her for a moment, committing the sight to memory—her hair spread across the pillow like dark water, her lips slightly parted, the utter peace on her face. I don't want to leave, but I know I have to. For both our sakes.