18. Madelyn #2
“This is gonna hurt baby, but I promise I’ll go slow,” he says, gently caressing my face. “It’ll feel good soon.”
He eases another inch inside of me, and I groan because it hurts, but I don’t want him to stop.
I just want to work through the pain so I can finally have my pleasure.
He pumps himself in and out of me slowly, each thrust adding more and more of himself, until he finally seats himself completely inside of me, breaking down every single wall of defense I’ve ever thrown up.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, wiping away the hot tears that streamed down my face from the pain.
I nod once more, and he shakes his. “I need to hear you say it, Mads. Tell me you’re okay, so I know I can keep going.”
“I’m okay. Just keep going, please,” I beg. “I need you to make it feel good.”
He smiles at me and it’s the most mesmerizing view I’ve ever seen.
Miles shirtless, his eyes full of lust on top of me, the feeling of him filling me completely in all the ways I’ve never felt before.
It’s euphoric. The pain is still there, but I would happily stay here forever just like this if it meant seeing him this way.
Miles continues to thrust his cock deep inside of me, groaning with pleasure, the pain slowly beginning to fade the faster he moves. He throws his head back, his throat working as he loses himself in the rhythm.
“Fuck Maddie,” he groans, his voice rough with emotion. “You feel incredible. I knew it would be like this. So fucking perfect.”
His hand slides to one of my breasts, gently kneading through the delicate lace of my bralette before he captures my mouth again.
He kisses me deeply, pouring every ounce of his desire into it as I melt beneath him.
I drag my fingers down the hard lines of his back, holding onto him as every movement pulls me further under.
Just when I thought the pleasure couldn’t get any better, Miles slides his hand in between us, finding my clit and rubbing in precise circles.
I bite my lip, throwing my head back and jerking my hips upward, chasing the sensation I so desperately crave.
The same sensation I’ve been giving myself every night to the thought of him.
“Oh baby, fuck yes, Maddie,” he growls in my ear. “I can feel you gripping that tight little pussy around my cock. C’mon baby, come for me. Come on my cock like a good girl.”
I can feel the orgasm cresting in my lower belly the faster he rubs my clit, and I know I’m about to combust.
“Oh my god, Miles—Miles, don’t stop,” I scream, the tingles building the harder he fucks me.
Heat spreads throughout my skin and I explode around him, waves of immense pleasure coursing through me as stars swarm my vision.
“Fuuuuuck Maddie, I’m coming,” he says in the deepest guttural groan I’ve ever heard.
Miles’ eyes roll to the back of his head, his thrusts slowing, telling me he’s emptied himself into the condom. Him finishing inside me was by far the sexiest shit I’ve ever seen, and it makes me wonder what it would feel without the extra layer.
Miles brings himself closer to my face, smiling down at me with an unmistakable look of adoration.
I cover my face with both hands, hiding myself from what just happened because, oh my god, that was so intense.
Is it supposed to be that hot the first time?
Maybe it wasn’t just the moment itself. Maybe it was because it was with him.
Because somehow, Miles has always had this way of making me forget every reason I told myself to stay away.
“No, no, no,” he laughs softly, gently trying to pull my hands away from my face. “You don’t get to hide from me now, Princess. Not after the hottest sex I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Oh really? The hottest?” I tease, finally peeking at him through my fingers. “You’re really trying to tell me taking my virginity is the hottest sex you’ve had?”
A small laugh escapes me because I know he’s just saying that to try and make me feel less embarrassed. There’s no way someone like Miles, someone who has experienced as much as he has, could possibly think sex with a virgin is the hottest. It’s just not possible.
“It is, because it was with you,” he responds with complete seriousness.
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. He reaches down, tucking a curl behind my ear with a tenderness that doesn’t match the man everyone else thinks they know. Then he kisses me so deeply, so completely, I swear he’s mending every piece of my heart that’s ever been broken.
He’s still inside me, and in the quiet that follows, the dull ache between my legs settles in. Impulsively, I flex, clenching around him. A low groan rips from his throat, his eyes snapping shut as he throws his head back and props himself up with one arm.
“Fuck baby,” he rasps, his voice rough and laced with warning. “You can’t do that unless you want round two right now.”
A sudden wave of heat rushes through me at the thought, but it’s immediately followed by a sharp spike of panic. I’m already sore, completely overwhelmed, and I honestly don’t think my body can handle any more.
As if sensing my inner conflict, he gives a slow, teasing thrust, just enough to test my limits.
“No, no, no!” I gasp out, hands frantically pressing against his chest. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise!”
A deep, rumbling laugh vibrates against my palms. He gives a reluctant groan as he slowly withdraws, but the moment he pulls out, a sudden cold ache replaces the fullness. I feel so empty.
Is this how it’s supposed to feel? Am I supposed to feel this connected to another person?
Peeling the condom off, he ties it off and tosses it into the trash before climbing back into the bed with me.
The second he’s beside me, he pulls me into him and I settle against his chest, my cheek resting over the steady beat of his heart.
My fingers find the tattoo there almost instinctively, tracing over the intricate lines of the anatomical heart and the ribbon wrapped around it.
“What’s the date for?” I whisper.
I don’t want him to think I’m prying. I’m not trying to dig into wounds he isn’t ready to open. I just want to know everything there is to know about him. He’s quiet for a moment and I think maybe he’s not going to answer me until he clears his throat, rubbing at his eyes.
“It’s the day my parents got married.” His voice is quiet, almost distant, like he’s somewhere else entirely.
“They were my best friends. Their love…it showed me what real love was supposed to look like. They never gave up on each other. Not once. They fought, obviously, because everyone does, but they always found their way back. They were loyal to each other. They chose each other every single day.”
His voice cracks slightly, and I feel him tense beneath me. It’s like he hates that I’m seeing this side of him. The broken pieces. But he knows mine. He knows the darkest parts of me.
“What happened to them?” I ask softly.
His jaw tightens before he finally answers. “They died in a car accident.”
My heart sinks.
“They went to the Redwoods for their anniversary in December. I was in high school, so they left me home.” His thumb brushes slowly over my arm, almost like he needs the distraction.
“My dad wasn’t used to driving in the snow.
They were coming down the mountain, and he hit a patch of ice. The car slid, and he lost control.”
He pauses. “They went off the cliff.”
The room feels impossibly quiet after that. I don’t know what words could possibly make something like that hurt less. How do you comfort someone who lost the two people who taught him what love was? How do you fill a space that big?
When I lost my mom, people always said they were sorry.
They told me how much they loved her and how much they cared, but it never felt real.
Because if they loved her so much, why didn’t they help her?
Why did they look away every time a new bruise appeared or pretend not to notice the pain she was carrying right in front of them?
They weren’t sorry. Not really.
The only thing anyone ever said that made sense was that she was in a better place. And honestly, I think any place would have been better than the hell she lived in. Even somewhere I couldn’t follow her.