Page 91 of Roped

“God, I don’t think I can…” I whimper, struggling under him.

He lifts his face and looks down at me. “You can.”

“You’re too b-big.”

“I know, darlin’.”

“I’m so scared. I’m so s-scared,” I admit because this is scary. His cock inside of me is so fucking scary, and what if we can’t? What if it always hurts like this and we don’t fit?

“We do,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Fit,” he tells me as if he read my thoughts, my panicky eyes.

“I-I’ll still…” I say quickly.

“Still what?”

I swallow, twisting under him a little but meaning every word with my soul. “Let you do it.”

Something passes over his features, something intense and heated, even profound, and his cock throbs inside of me, making me jerk. “I know.” His cock pulses again. “My Princess is sweet like that.” Another pulse and he adds, “But you don’t have to.”

I tighten my arms around him. “But—”

“’Cause I got you,” he says. “And we’ll do this. Together.”

And then we go about doing it together. First, he shushes me, stroking my face. Tells me to breathe through the pain and when my breaths are easier, he lifts his chest, changing the angle down below that does create some more pain. But that all goes away when he slides my arms from around his neck and puts them up on the pillow, by my head.

He threads our fingers together and, looking down at me, takes his first stroke.

I gasp and his jaw clenches. But our eyes never waver from each other’s. Our hands remain joined too. And he does it again. Again and again. In and out. Slowly but steadily. He moves inside of me, making me gasp and squirm with every stroke, making me watch him, his beautiful face, his burly body working over me. And honestly, what could be better than that? Than me getting to watch him as he makes me his. Finally. After weeks and months. Seven months, three weeks, six days, nine hours, and nineteen minutes. No pain could ever stand a chance against this kind of intimacy, this kind of union.

The Phantom and his Princess coming together.

Soon, he’s got a rhythm going. It’s not fast, but it’s not slow either. It’s firm and constant and I’m moaning with every single thrust. I’m studying the sharp angles of his face and watching them change as he picks up even more speed and his firm strokes cross the line and become fast.

Become hard and rough and drunk with lust. Just like his face, just like my face, too, probably. At which point, he breaks his silence and joins me. I’ve been moaning all this time, whimpering and gasping and arching under him, but he’s been silent. Now, though, he’s groaning along with me, grunting and moaning even, his hips slamming against mine, his muscles standing taut and slick. Our sweat mingles, our moans become one, and then he comes closer. Or rather drops down on me, his elbows catching his fall and his hips stuttering as we gasp into each other’s mouths. Because in a flash, our orgasm is upon us. We go over the edge together, holding hands, holding our gazes. Our bodies moving as one.

Together.

Just like he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The Quiet Mustang

IT’S BEEN ONLY three days and I already want to break my promise.

I already want to keep her and never let go. I already want to sleep beside her for the rest of my life, her hair in my face, her face tucked in my chest. Like it is now, at the first light of dawn. Her small hand resting by my heart and her thigh tangled up with mine. I already want her sweat cooling on my body and mine cooling on hers. I want her breaths fanning my skin and mine fanning hers. I want to lie in my bed with her, cozy and drowsy, while the storm rages outside.

I want.

But I won’t.

First, because I tired her out. Jesus, the way I went at her, kept waking her up all through the night. Hard and hungry. Always so fucking hungry for her. For her taste, her moans, her tight, soft pussy. It wasn’t enough for me that I finally got to be with her after months and months of waiting and wanting. No, after years of waiting and wanting to be with a girl I really wanted to be with. It wasn’t enough that she gripped me so tight I saw fucking stars. Or that I made her bleed and cleaned off her blood with my tongue—not with a useless cloth or a towel. Although can’t say I was selfless about it when I jerked off to drinking her virgin blood. I jerked off to the fact that it was me who did that to her. That it was me she was struggling to take and yet was so fucking brave, she did it anyway.

The only consolation was that I didn’t fuck her again after the first time, only used my tongue on her, ate her out until her cunt fluttered around my mouth and gushed cum down my throat. And while I spilled my seed in my hand. By the last time, I could hear her moans were more pain than pleasure. Only then did I let her sleep.