Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Skye
I feel him pushing into me slowly, the unfamiliar intrusion creating an odd stretching sensation that sends ripples of uncertainty through my body.
At first, it's just strange—being filled in a way I've never experienced before, this intimate invasion that makes me hyper-aware of every inch of contact between us—but it doesn't take long before the strangeness transforms into a sharp, stinging pain that makes my breath catch.
"Shit," I say, my hands fluttering uselessly before finding purchase on his sides, gripping the firm muscle there. When he pushes in further, breaking past some invisible barrier inside me, I hiss sharply through clenched teeth. "Holy shit, fuck, this hurts."
Dom looks down at me, his face tight with concentration and something that looks almost like concern, his dark eyes searching mine. The muscles in his forearms strain as he holds himself above me, careful not to crush me with his weight.
"I think it's going to hurt more the slower we go," he says, eyes locked on mine, his voice rough with restraint. "I need to go all the way in."
"Like ripping off a Band-Aid?" I ask, my voice shaky from the pain, attempting a weak smile that probably looks more like a grimace.
"Yeah, like that," he confirms, and I can see him struggling to hold back, the cords in his neck standing out with the effort. "It's going to hurt like hell but not for long, and then I'll let you get used to it before I move again."
"Okay," I say, my voice barely audible even to my own ears, a whisper lost in the sound of our breathing.
"I need you to relax, baby. You're so tense," he says, his thumbs gently stroking my hipbones, tracing small, soothing circles that somehow manage to calm the storm of panic rising inside me.
"Okay," I say again, trying desperately to make my body comply, to melt into the expensive sheets beneath me instead of tensing like a bow string about to snap.
He dips his head down, kissing along my jaw and down my neck, his lips impossibly soft against my heated skin.
The feeling of his mouth on me is a welcome distraction from the pain, and I sink into the sensation, focusing on the gentle press of his lips rather than the burning stretch below.
Each kiss feels like a promise, a silent communication that he'll take care of me.
"Good girl," he whispers against my skin, his breath warm and damp, and something about those words makes me melt even more, like honey in hot tea.
I relax further, my body surrendering incrementally to his touch, muscles loosening one by one under his patient ministrations.
"It's time, baby," he says, his breath hot against my throat, creating goosebumps that cascade down my body. "Just relax and let me fill you."
"I'm ready," I whisper as he continues kissing my skin, anchoring me with his tenderness, giving me something to hold onto in this moment that's both terrifying and thrilling.
He thrusts into me fully with one fast, powerful motion that steals my breath away.
I cry out, the pain so intense I feel it all the way to my lungs where the air is caught, trapped in my chest as if the shock has frozen everything inside me.
It's like being split in two, a burning, tearing sensation that radiates outward from my core through my entire body.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says, and he wipes away tears I didn't even know had fallen, his thumb gentle against my cheek, catching the moisture there. "Breathe," he tells me, coaching me through it with surprising gentleness, his eyes never leaving mine.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to fill my lungs past the pain that seems to have taken up residence in every part of me.
I feel so full, stretched beyond what I thought possible, and it burns so bad, the pain radiating through my core like wildfire.
I keep focusing on my breathing, trying to find a rhythm that doesn't hurt, counting the seconds between inhales and exhales.
Of course I would pick someone with a monster fucking cock to take my virginity. I would laugh at the thought if it didn't hurt so bad. The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes.
I look up at Dom's face and see the strain there, his jaw clenched tight enough that I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the dim light. I bring my hand to his cheek, surprised by my own tenderness, by the need to comfort him even in my discomfort.
"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned by his expression, the tightness around his eyes. "Does it hurt you?"
"No, baby, it's just hard to stay still like this," he says, his voice rough with restraint, almost a growl. "You feel so fucking good, but I'll stay still for as long as you need. You're doing so good, you just need to adjust to me."
I nod, running my fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it is between my fingers, silky strands that belie his hard exterior.
I can't believe how sweet he's being, how patient with me when everything about him screams power and control.
This man who commands rooms, who built empires, who radiates authority with every breath—he's holding himself perfectly still just for me, putting my comfort before his pleasure in a way that makes something flutter dangerously in my chest.
"I need you to do something for me now, okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but firm, the voice of a man used to being obeyed but trying his best to be gentle.
I’m willing to do anything to ease the discomfort, to make this better for both of us, to prove that his patience isn't wasted on me.
As I look up at him, I'm struck by the intensity in his eyes—desire tempered with care, lust balanced with tenderness.
It's not what I expected from him, not what I prepared myself for when I agreed to this arrangement.
I expected to be used, to be a vessel for his pleasure, just another body to satisfy his needs.
Instead, he's treating me like I'm precious, like my experience matters as much as his own, like I'm something to be cherished rather than consumed.
It makes something unfurl inside me, something warm and dangerously close to affection, a feeling I hadn't planned for and don't know what to do with.
"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
"Bring your hand down between us and rub your clit," he tells me, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine where our bodies press together.
I bring my hand down from where it was tangled in his hair, ready to slip it between us where we're joined so intimately. My fingers tremble slightly with a mixture of nervousness and lingering pain, unsure if I can make this better.
"Wait," he says suddenly, stopping me with a gentle but firm grip on my wrist.
He captures my hand in his much larger one, bringing my fingers to his mouth.
My breath catches in my throat as he slips my fingers between his lips.
I watch, completely mesmerized, as his lips close around my fingers, the sensation almost unbearably intimate.
His tongue is soft and hot as it glides between my fingers, coating them thoroughly with a deliberate care that makes my chest tighten.
My mouth falls open slightly, unconsciously mirroring his actions as heat blooms and spreads low in my belly.
When he finally pulls my hand from his mouth, my fingers are slick and glistening in the dim light. The cool air hits them, creating a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of his mouth that makes me shiver all the way down to my toes.
"Now," he says, his voice noticeably deeper than before, rougher around the edges with barely contained desire.
Fuck, this man is so perfect it hurts to look at him.
Every little thing he does shows how experienced he is, how much attention he pays to details I wouldn't have even thought about.
How did I get here? In this massive bed with this gorgeous, powerful man who's treating me with such care I could almost cry?
I slip my wet fingers between our bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves.
The slickness from his mouth makes my touch glide easily over my heated flesh, and the first brush of my fingertips against my clit sends a spark of pleasure through me that momentarily eclipses the lingering pain, making me gasp.
"That's it," he encourages, watching my face with an intensity that should make me self-conscious but somehow doesn't. "Show me how you like to be touched."
I start with gentle circles, exactly the way I touch myself when I'm alone in my bed with my headphones on.
It feels completely different with him inside me, so much more intense, like the pleasure has nowhere to go but straight through my core.
The pain begins to recede like an outgoing tide, replaced by a building warmth that spreads outward from where our bodies connect so completely.
The sensation of being so completely filled, of being stretched beyond what I thought possible, shifts from discomfort to something else—something that makes my inner muscles clench around him involuntarily.
"Fuck," he hisses, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. "Do that again."
"Do what?" I ask breathlessly, confused.
"You just squeezed me. Fuck, it feels incredible."
I deliberately tighten around him, watching his face transform with pleasure, his eyes closing briefly as he fights for control.
"That's it," he whispers, voice strained. "Keep touching yourself."
I continue circling my clit, feeling the tension in my body dissipating as pleasure builds. The burning sensation fades, replaced by an awareness of how perfectly he fills me, how the pressure inside creates an entirely new kind of sensation.
I begin moving against him, my hips rising instinctively to test it out, seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything he's giving me.
The small movement draws a groan from deep in his chest, a primal sound that vibrates through both our bodies and sends electric currents racing along my skin.
My eyes shoot up to his, surprised by his reaction and how it makes something molten pool low in my belly, a sensation so intense it steals my breath.
"I think you can move now," I say, my voice breathier than I expected, barely recognizing it as my own. It sounds like someone else entirely—someone bolder, more sensual, unafraid to ask for what she wants.
"Are you sure?" he asks, concern etched across his features, brow furrowed as he studies my face. His eyes search mine intently, as if he could read the truth written there better than in my words.
"Yes, please," I beg him, the words tumbling out before I can stop them, need overriding any lingering embarrassment. My fingers dig into the corded muscles of his shoulders, urging him closer, desperate for him to understand how much I need this—need him.
He pulls back slowly, the drag of him against my inner walls creating a friction that makes me gasp. When just the tip remains inside, teasing my entrance, he pushes back in with deliberate care, watching my face with such intense concentration that I feel completely exposed, completely seen.
"Oh," I breathe out, surprised by how different it feels now. There's still a slight sting, a burning stretch that reminds me this is all new territory, but it's overshadowed by a building pleasure that radiates outward from where we're joined, warm and liquid and intoxicating.
"How was that?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of restraint, muscles trembling slightly beneath my fingertips.
"Mmm, so good. More," I moan, my fingers digging deeper into his shoulders, urging him closer, wanting to feel his full weight pressing me into the mattress.
He establishes a gentle rhythm, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as my body accommodates him.
I'm fascinated by the changes in his expression—the tightening of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes like polished obsidian, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates on maintaining control.
It's like watching a master craftsman at work, every movement precise and purposeful.
"You're so tight," he groans, the words rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. "So perfect. I could stay inside you forever."
His words send a fresh wave of arousal cascading through me, pooling between my thighs where we're connected so intimately.
I wrap my legs around his waist on pure instinct, changing the angle suddenly, and he slides impossibly deeper, hitting a spot inside that makes stars explode behind my eyelids and tears prick at the corners.
"Oh god, it feels so good," I moan, my back arching involuntarily off the bed, pressing my breasts against the hard plane of his chest.
"Here?" he asks, picking up his pace slightly, hitting that magical spot over and over with a precision that seems impossible, as if he's mapped my body more thoroughly than I ever could.
"Yes! Right there. Please don't stop," I beg him, my filter completely gone, reduced to pure sensation and need. Nothing exists beyond this moment, beyond the delicious friction where our bodies meet, beyond the building tension coiling tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust.
My hand between us is trapped in the most delicious way, the pressure of his body against mine adding to the stimulation, creating layers of pleasure that blur together into something overwhelming.
The pain is completely gone now, not even a memory, replaced by waves of ecstasy that build with each thrust.
Every inch of my skin feels hypersensitive, alive with sensation.
I'm drowning in the rhythm we've created together, in the slick slide of skin against skin, in the intoxicating scent of sex and sweat and expensive cologne.
He fills me so completely I can barely remember what it felt like to be empty, can't imagine ever wanting to feel that way again.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate directly with something primal inside me, something ancient and feminine that responds to his masculine energy. "Take all of me."
I'm completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him as he moves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he's doing—and he does.
God, he does. Each thrust is perfectly calculated to drive me higher, to build the tension coiling tighter and tighter at my core until I feel I might snap from the pressure.