Page 89 of Dangerous King
He leans forward and kisses my pussy one more time. "I'll never hurt you."
Something teases my entrance, it's the thick head of his cock pressing against my opening, against the quivering ache that, despite my fear, is growing inside me. I hold my breath and force myself to relax, so he won't see how scared I am.
He goes slow at first. I'm grateful for that. I was right to be concerned—he's broad, thick, the kind of man who really might split you in half if he weren't so careful. He pushes inside in increments, always watching, always waiting for permission. When it's too much, he pauses and just holds me, forehead pressed to my collarbone. I think I love him a little for that.
He grinds against me, not forcing, just letting me feel the stretch of it. The words in my head are wild, unhinged—take me, ruin me, make me yours—but I can't say them, I just plead with my eyes, with my hands clawing him closer. He strokes my hair, fixes his gaze on mine as he enters, a little deeper, and stops as he encounters the barrier. This is it. I gasp and clench my hands against his shoulders.
"Easy," he says, voice a low, guttural balm. "Let me in." And then, "God, you're tight, I could break you in two." He shudders, then he pushes in with one hard thrust.
I cry out as he stills.
"It's okay, Piccolina. It's alright. The worst is over. I promise. You did good, so fucking good."
His words calm my frantically beating heart. I listen to my body, and Enrico is right. The pain was sharp, but it's subsiding, kind of like having blood drawn. First, there is this pain when the needle enters, and then you kind of get used to the feel of it inside you. Not that Enrico's cock is comparable to a needle by any means. He's filling a part of me I didn't know was empty. Gentle kisses pepper my face, his elbows lean on both sides of my face, and rough hands move my hair from my face. "Are you ready?"
I nod. Expecting much worse. But carefully, he pulls back, and the moment he is almost out, I want to cry for the loss of him. Then he pushes back in, deeper, pausing so I can adjust, then filling me, filling every place I didn't know could be filled.
He's so deep inside me now, deeper than I ever thought possible, slow and patient. As my body adjusts to him, the pain melts into something huge and heavy, and my hips lift of their own will, greedy for him. Every inch he gives me is a dark gift, a new heat, a new hunger. I am full of him, invaded and possessed and wished for, all at once. Something in the way he moves feels hungry, but he's always waiting for me, for any sign I want more or need less. His consideration sends me climbing right back toward the precipice.
"You feel that?" he rasps, his thumb tracing my cheekbone—almost tender despite the brutal, hungry thrust of his hips. "You were made for me. Every inch of you. Every sound. Every fucking first. Mine. No one else will ever touch you like this. Not in this lifetime… or the next."
His words fire through me. Each line makes me burn hotter, tighter.
Instinct makes me arch against him, wanton and just a little wild; I blush so deeply it feels like my skin will split, but not once do I look away. I want to see him see me like this.
He bends over me, his lips at my ear. "I could pound you into this mattress for hours, Piccolina, and you'd take every inch, wouldn't you?"
I gasp. "Yes, yes—please?—"
He fucks me harder then, and the shock of it makes me cry out, makes every muscle in my body coil around him. I am sobbing his name, grabbing his hair, his arms, wanting everything at once.
He fucks me like he means to break me and put me back together. His words are filthy and worshipful by turns, always finding a new secret place in me.
At the crest, when I think I can't possibly take more, he presses his hand between us and rubs my clit again, rough and perfect, and then the world explodes. Everything goes white, then red, then nothing at all. I come so hard I think I might black out.
From far away, I hear him curse and utter my name before he roars into the room like a predator after a kill. I feel his cock incredibly thicken, jerk, and then spill his seed deep into me. This is so fucking hot, another wave shudders through me.
He's still there, inside me, steady and real. Anchoring us together, a connection I never want to lose. Ever so slowly, my body trembles down from the peak. He slows, then stops. Brushes the hair from my face and kisses my forehead.
"Brava, Piccolina," he pants. "So fucking good."
All I can do is hold on to him.
For a moment, there's only the sound of our uneven breath, the thudding of our hearts. He pulls me deeper into his embrace and rolls us to the side, still connected. I sling my leg over his, so as not to lose contact. His hands move up and down my heated body.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes into my ear. "You're not on the pill, are you?"
Heat of a different kind moves through me. I'm not an idiot. I know what happens when people have sex. Unprotected sex. He didn't use a condom, at least I don't think so… I mean, what do I know?
I shake my head against his chest. A chest I was right about. His muscles are incredibly hard. Like a statue, but unlike a statue, they're warm and full of life. Something rumbles through it.
"I don't know what it is about you, Piccolina, but I want, no, Ineedto make you mine. I want to mark you. I want every fucking man in this world to know that you're mine. The thought of your belly swelling with my kid… It's fucking killing me… in the best way."
My heart stutters at his words. Dio mio, could there possibly be anything better or greater than to be his?
And a kid?
I'm nineteen, I've barely begun to see the world. But his son? His daughter? A tiny person who loves me unconditionally? Whom I love unconditionally?
