Page 200 of His Pretty Little Duet

"Stop, sweet girl," he orders in a gravelly, deep timbre that curls my toes. He drops his arm from the top of the sofa and grips my hip hard to still me. "Not without lubrication."

My head swims when I look down at his cock expanding between us, reaching up to his navel. Huge. And veined.

"I like the way you gaze at my cock," he purrs. "Withyearning. You nearly salivate, little deer. It's the prettiest thing."

Licking my lips, I agree with a nod. The taste of him does things to me.

He smiles at my eagerness. "Be a good girl. Go to my top drawer and bring me the bottle. I'll make you forget tonight."

I climb to my feet, and while I retrieve the bottle, he puts his cigar out in the ashtray on the table.

His powerful physique is leaning back when I approach him again; muscles protrude down the plane of his abdomen with finely cut valleys around each. And down his long arms they create ridges and bulk. His formidability—how quickly he could attack, snap a person in two using those muscles, stokes me into a fever. He is a lion in wait.

I want him. Crawling quickly back on to the lap of this dangerous man, I spread my thighs wide over him. Grinding my hips on the length of him, I slide my pussy up and down, stroking my clit over him, revelling in the simmering pleasure.

He groans his approval but focuses on his task and the bottle in his hand, covering his fingers in clear gel.

I put on a show.

Watching him closely, I rub myself to a wet, primed state.

I should be more anxious. I'm not sure what to expect; I've had a plug in my arse for hours—surely, I can handle the throbbing of his cock inside me.

I flop my arms over his shoulders as he positions me forward. I can feel his hands lathering the length of him behind my spine, hear the rumble of his satisfaction as he jerks himself a few times.

Then he stops and my nose meets his, our eyes inches apart. "Breathe deeply," he purrs, exhaling hard, smoky cigar-scented air hitting my face.

Bracing me at the top of his cock, hovering me over his lap, he pushes one hand flat to my lower spine, arching me. My backside tilting. His other hand grips my hip, rolling me slightly as the bulbous crown of his erection pops through the tight muscles.

My eyes widen, and his darken.

"Fuck," we both say.

"Good girl," he whispers hoarsely. "Very, very good. Your first time will be overwhelming. Keep your eyes open so I can see you." He levers my hips as the thick length of him slides excruciatingly slowly inside me. “I don’t want you anywhere else when I’m inside you.”

I fist his hair when it gets too much, my nails grating his skin. A constant burn around his penetration blazes, the muscles fighting back against the invasion, the sensation of pain growing. Moving up. Into me?—

"Stop, stop, stop." I pant, the stretch of those muscles all-consuming, each nerve channelled down there. My body burstswith the need to recoil. To stop the sting. My ears and neck are hot, and my throat tight.

He studies my face, and I glance away evasively, disappointed in myself for stopping him. Other girls do this. Why can't I? I want to do it. I want to feel it…

He pulls himself out of me, and I almost cry at the relief when my arse closes and the burning stops. "I'm sor?—"

"Don't you dare use that word. You know what it will get you. Never besorryfor recognising your limits."

I blink at him. "How far in were you?"

His brows draw in. "Barely at all, sweet girl."

"What if you don’t fit?"

He smiles smoothly and sweeps a rogue hair over my shoulder. "I will, little deer."

"But, how do you know? You're not a girl. What if it really hurts, and you don't know because no one has ever told you. I'm scared it is going to hurt."

"I would never hurt any part of you." He stares at me with intensity playing through a dark thought. “Come with me, sweet girl.”

He nods for me to climb from him, and I do as I am ‘nodded to do.’

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