Page 103 of Shattered Fate

“Then I get to be the first.” Gage pulls my panties off leaving my garter, and the snaps shine in the hallway’s light. “You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen. Can I kiss you? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

I widen my legs, offering myself to him.

He opens me, and embarrassed, I try not to squirm. I keep groomed down there as part of my feminine maintenance, but I do that for myself and no one else. I feel exposed.

I gasp as he covers my cleft with his scorching mouth, and already an orgasm starts to build, pressure mounting between my legs. His tongue laps at my clit, and I lift my hips, my body instinctively looking for more, searching for release.

“Gage,” I whimper.

“Is it too much?” he asks, lifting his head, meeting my eyes in the scant light.

“No.” I panic. I’m almost ready to come, and I would die now if he stopped. “More. I need more.”

“Can I touch you? Push my finger inside you? I want to feel you come around me.”

“Yes, yes,” I beg, fisting his comforter in my hands. “Please.”

Gage lowers his head and devours me. He glides a finger inside me, and I moan. This feels nothing like what those men did, and separating how they treated me from what Gage is doing is so easy. He loves me, and every movement, every request, proves he’ll never hurt me.

“More,” I say desperately. “More.”

He slides another finger inside me, filling me, and I bear down and rock against his mouth. I need to come, the need of it so strong my apprehension falls away. “Please,” I moan. It only takes one more flick of his tongue and I come, pushing my sex against his lips until I think I’m the one hurting him.

The orgasm crashes through my body, lighting my skin on fire, and I feel like I’m fizzing, like a sparkler, until I die out and I’m lying on Gage’s bed sweaty and depleted.

Using the edge of the comforter, he wipes his mouth. Never breaking eye contact, he crawls over the mattress and covers my sweaty body with his.

“Taste yourself on my lips. How sweet you are,” he says, and he kisses me, lapping at me like a hungry cat happening upon a bowl of cream.

The flavor isn’t unpleasant, and I kiss him back, thankful he loves me, thankful he’s patient and willing to show me a different side to what sex can be.

He presses his cock into my cleft, hot and hard, reminding me I need to return the favor. I’m not scared. Well, maybe a little bit, but I want to make him come. I want to see how he feels when I touch him.

I push on his shoulders and he lets me roll him onto his back. “I can’t give you a blowjob...” I’m not ready to have his cock in my mouth. Only time and an extreme amount of patience on his part will let me decide if I can ever be comfortable doing such a triggering activity.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, cupping my face between his hands.

“I want to. Can I play?”

“Yeah, but if I die, will you call Pop and take care of Baby?” He’s teasing me, his eyes bright, and I love him even more if that’s possible.

Reaching behind me, he unhooks my bra. “Take your garter belt off.”

While I do, he wiggles out of his briefs, and we’re naked on the bed. This is a new feeling and one I’m grateful for. The men Ash sold me to never undressed me. Maybe having sex in a gown will be one of my triggers—I won’t know until I try—but lying with Gage in his apartment without a stitch is about as far from being in a sterile hotel room in a ripped dress as I can be.

I straddle him, resting my palms on his chest. He skims his finger up and down my spine and it feels so good I shiver.

His cock is thick between us, the lips of my sex cradling the base, the long shaft poking out from between our bodies. It would be so easy for me to rise onto my knees and position myself over him, but I haven’t had sex in six years. Late one night, I asked Stella how it felt when she made love to my brother after so long, and she told me the truth. He’d been rough and unkind and he’d hurt her. Gage would never hurt me, but it will be important to tell him how I’m feeling so he knows what I can handle and what I can’t.

I sit back and hold him in my hand. The tip is wet, and I gingerly touch it with my fingertip.

Gage twitches.

“You don’t like it?”

“I do. Very much. I won’t need much to get off.”

I trace the veins and the wide crown of his head. It sounds silly, taking stock, but I love looking at him. Associating his cock to pleasurable things and not power and violence.

---