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“Shh,” He whispers, snaking his hands around me to cup my breasts.“It’s going to feel so good, love.” One hand works my breast as the other dips lower under my short jean skirt, past my underwear, till he cups my sex. He likes to do this and use his fingers to get me all worked up. It feels good, but never beyond that. Never orgasmic like Harper said it should feel like when a man touches you.
The first time Andrew fingered me, I felt like it was never going to end, so I faked it.
I’ve been faking it ever since.
I read that some women just can’t orgasm. So I think it’s more my fault than Andrew’s.
He walks us to his bed until the back of my knees hit the mattress. He shoves me against it harder than a loving push should be. I see the spark in his eyes, the turn-on that only predators delight in. In one fell swoop, he peels off his shirt to show off his impressive body. He unbuttons his jeans, and they slide down his strong legs. I see his hardness through his boxes.
He likes the fear in my eyes because it only makes him harder. The realization sends a shiver down my spine, a stark reminder of the power imbalance between us. He’s on top of me then, his presence overwhelming, not giving me time to take anything in or adjust to the rapid escalation. His lips move aggressively against mine, a stark contrast to the tenderness I once thought he possessed. Simultaneously, his hands work with a practiced ease, tugging off my skirt with a swift motion that leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“Can we slow down,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep my breath level despite the panic rising within me.
I reach up, grabbing his shoulders in a weak attempt to anchor myself, to assert some control over the situation. But it's futile. With a quick, almost rehearsed movement, he captures my wrists in one of his hands, pinning them above my head against the softness of the pillow. The ease with which he overrides my feeble attempt at resistance is chilling, highlighting his complete disregard for my feelings.
His other hand roams freely, tracing a path down the side of my body in a mock caress that feels more like an invasion than an act of intimacy. The contrast between his actions and the affectionate terms he whispers is jarring, creating a cacophony of emotions that swirl chaotically within me. Fear, confusion, and a desperate wish for this not to be happening battle against the harsh reality of his unwavering advance.
Maybe this is my fault; maybe I kept leading him on. Relationships should progress. Sex is just another box to check.
Maybe...
Maybe I'm a fool, or maybe this won't be as bad as I fear it may be. It’s just that I wanted my first time to be with someone I was truly excited about. Andrew used to excite me, but now it’s just fear.
"Andrew," I clear my throat. "Can we slow down?"
He releases my hands, grabs my neck, and squeezes. Panic floods my body as each inhale makes it harder to breathe.
His grin widens. "You look so fucking beautiful when you're desperate for me. I love you so much, Poppy. So fucking much." He pushes his cock against my sex to emphasize his feelings.
"Do you love me?" He asks. My slight pauses make his fingers curl tighter. All I can do is nod, which thankfully satisfies him.
At this moment, trapped beneath him, my pleas ignored, the room seems to close in around us. The dim light casts shadows across his face, transforming him in my eyes from the person I thought I knew into a stranger driven by desires I can no longer comprehend. The intimacy we're supposed to share is replaced by a stark, unsettling realization of my vulnerability and his apparent sense of entitlement.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to take my time, love.”
Ever since I lied and told him I loved him back, he started calling me‘love’. It’s almost like he knew I was lying just to please him, and now he’s rubbing salt in my wound.
Just relax. He’s been patient. I’ve made him wait.That's the bandaid I place over my bleeding heart. Bandaids don't stop wounds from bleeding, but they make you feel better for the short term, that is.
We kiss until I feel a little less tense. He reaches over and grabs a condom, tearing it open with his teeth. I watch as he pulls his long cock free and rolls it on with a grin on his lips the whole time. But when his fingers start to work me again, and I have to fake an orgasm, I just can’t do it.
I shake my head,“Andrew, I’m not ready.” I whisper, half in fear and half in relief. If he breaks up with me, then so be it.
Please just let me go.
He pauses, blue eyes darkening over me. His head slowly tilts as he considers me.“So that’s what you want, to play games, love.” He sneers.“You want it to be like this. Rough.”
What?
“I’ve waited.” He growls.
“I know,” I whisper, lips trembling.
He starts moving his hips, then he reaches down and presses his cock against my core. He closes his eyes in pleasure, not regarding my fear or maybe regarding it too much.
He starts to rock his hips, and when I feel the tip of his cock push inside of me, I just freeze. Words escape me; everything does, even my thoughts, as he keeps pushing inside of me. It feels like an out-of-body experience as he keeps shoving himself deeper, pushing with painful thrusts, but not as painful as the burn and stretch going on inside of my body.
Then he keeps going, breaking me. Claiming my virginity, thrusting, and kissing my unresponsive lips. All the while, I’m just laying there under him, focusing on anything else but the fact that my boyfriend didn’t listen to me.
