Page 62 of Beware of Dog

“Oh, that’s—oh.”

“Doesn’t hurt?”

Later, when her brain wasn’t melting out of her ears, Cass would have a laugh to herself: how many people would have believed her if she’d told them Frank Shepherd was a careful and considerate lover? At some point while she was pulsing all over with a warm glow, her eyes shut, he disappeared, and reappeared before she could start to panic with a warm, damp cloth and a glass of water, of which he made her drink every drop. He’d stripped off her soaked panties, and his boxer-briefs, and stretched out beside her on the bed until she’d calmed down, and they were bantering again, and then he’d started stroking her all over, winding her back up.

Now, she was on her back again, knees up, feet braced on the mattress, with Shep crowded in close between them, his cock hard and hot against the inside of her thigh. His hips would hitch every so often, and she loved the idea that he was getting a little carried away. But then he’d settle, and refocus on the task at hand.

That task being to slowly drive her mad while he stretched her on his fingers, one at a time. They were up to three, and Cass was shaking.

“Cass,” he prompted.

Oh, right. He’d asked her a question. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He smirked. “Liar.”

She sighed. How was it possible to be this turned on and annoyed at the same time? Only Shep…

He withdrew his fingers.

“No, no, wait, come on.” She reached down and caught his hand, a little stunned and a lot excited about how slick it was. Her heart was beating so fast she felt faint; it was hard to form full sentences. “It doesn’t hurt,” she repeated, and it didn’t, not badly. “It’s just…a lot. It’s…” The wordoverwhelmingwouldn’t come. “But, please. Please, I want it.”

Shep studied her a moment, jaw tight, gaze soft. His Adama’s apple jumped hard. “Okay, yeah,” he said, gruffly, after a beat, and he pushed back in with four fingers.

She couldn’t hold her head up to watch anymore. Her head fell back, and then her eyes fell shut, and she didn’t realize she was making hurt little noises until he braced his free hand on the mattress beside her head and leaned his face in close to hers.

“Shh, shh, I got you,” he murmured, as his fingers thrust, a wide stretch, but not as deep as his cock would reach.

She didn’t realize she was crying until he kissed her eyelid and said, “Don’t cry, baby. You want it? You want me?”

She slung her arms around his neck. “Yes. Shep,please.”

“Alright, alright, hold on.” His voice was ragged, breathless. “Let go a sec and I’ll give it to you.”

She whimpered when his fingers withdrew again. But then came the crinkling of foil, and his big, warm hands settled on her thighs, rearranging her legs, spreading her further. His hipbones were sharp when she closed her legs around his waist. And hiscock, when it pressed at her entrance, was blunt, and hot, and intimidating in a way that thrilled her to the bone.

“Cass.” She’d never heard his voice lower, rougher. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, and she thought she’d never forget the sight of him between her thighs, poised above her, braced on one hand, face taut with desire. But still waiting, still wanting her to give him the nod, because it was her first time, and helovedher, and didn’t want to hurt her.

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she was afraid he’d recoil from them. She clutched at his arm, his shoulder, dug her nails in deep, and the muscles along his sides flickered in response.

“You ready, baby?”

“Yeah.”

He shuffled in a fraction closer, cockhead pushing between her folds, getting rightthere, and he gripped her waist, and pulled her toward him.

The first breach was an impossible-seeming stretch, and a faint burn. But that wasn’t why she gasped; she gasped because it was happening. Because it was him. Because it was them. And this felt like something perfect and inevitable; a lost puzzle piece of her life finally clicking into place.

She loved her family, such as it was, and her art, and she loved crisp fall mornings, and sun-sticky summers, and watching the sun come up over Manhattan every morning. But there was a hollow place inside her; a melancholy knowledge that she hadn’t found her niche in the world.

And now here it was.

She gripped him tight, watching the strain on his face, watching the tendons stretch like building girders on the sides of his throat, and said, all in a rush, “Oh God, Shep, it’s so much,it’s so much, don’t stop, please, please, please don’t stop, I’ll die if you do.”

He barked a short laugh. “Dramatic little brat.”

“You love it.”

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