Page 86 of Kept in the Dark
With so many sensations to focus on, I forget about his other hand until it tightens around a fistful of hair. The slight sting makes me gasp. Fuck, I love a man’s hand in my hair almost as much as I love it around my neck. I grasp at his chest, feeling immobilized.
“I want you to look at me, Nicole.” His icy blue eyes are colorless in the dark as they rake across my face, collecting and cataloging each of my expressions.
A second finger probes my opening, and I cry out as the first, already inside, strokes a spot that makes electricity shoot outward, through all my limbs. The second finger is a stretch, and he twists them together as he pumps. I feel him pressing against the tight space, exploring and massaging, and I almost come just from the knowledge that he’s preparing me to take his giant fucking cock.
When I feel a third finger, a musical whimper blows out of me. I tense and clutch at his shoulders.
“Shhh,” he croons. “Relax. You can take another finger.”
I moan, thrashing my head. It already feels like so much. Too much.
“You will. Youmust,” he says sternly, stroking so deep and filling me so full that I’m about to lose my damn mind. “You cannot take me if you cannot take another finger.”
I gasp at that, and it melts into a long noise that’s almost a sob as he works that third finger inside me. His thumb stills against my clit as I adjust to the additional pressure, taking in a few shuddering breaths. My fingernails dig into the hardness of his shoulders.
“That’s it. Good girl. I knew you could take it.”
Good girl? Okay, I love some good, dirty praise, but hearing it in his controlled, deep, accented voice… I would melt if I wasn’t so sure I was on the precipice of combustion.
With three of his fingers crammed deep inside me, his chest hair brushing against my hard, sensitive nipples, and his swirling thumb bringing my body higher and higher, my stomach clenches as that familiar, building sensation grips me from inside. I try to move against him, but the fingers in my hair that I forgot about tighten, anchoring me.
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Are you going to come? Tell me. Speak.”
“Yes!” I blurt out at his demand. “Keep doing that, right there. Just like that.” There’s a desperation to my voice as I chase the orgasm that’s hovering just at the edge of my physical awareness.
I’m not sure if it’s that he’s good at taking direction, or he’s just unlike the vast majority of men who hear “right there, just like that” and decide to change the pace or position of their fingers, but he keeps his touch there, and keeps doing just that. All other thoughts fall away as I zero in on the sensations, reducing my world to just the two of us.
It builds and builds, and I’m soaring. “I’m…”
That’s all I get out, before the world crashes back down around me in a jumbled mass of color, light, sounds, and sensations that feel conflicting and nonsensical—hard, soft, pointy, flat… I lose myself as my body shakes, tightening and loosening around the intrusion of his touch.
I’ve barely come back into consciousness when he withdraws his fingers and moves his hips between my thighs. My legs flop to the side to make room.
“I cannot wait any longer,” he growls.
“Yes,” I moan, still panting as I come down. I tilt up my pelvis for him because I need more, even though I’m still throbbing from my last release.
He rears back, looming over me on his knees in a way that casts his entire face in shadow. I wish he were closer; I want his weight on me, or at the very least, I wish I’d turned on the damn light so I could look at him if he’s going to be so far away. Improve my view.
He grips my waist with both hands, adjusting himself between my legs, draping them almost obscenely over his rock-hard thighs. Rough palms, hard grip, fingers digging into soft flesh… his touch locks me in place, and it’s nowhere near enough contact. He cups himself to aim the thick, rounded, blunt head at my entrance.
“This is it, Nicole—your only chance to say no before I make you mine. Tell me to stop; I will stop. Now. Or never.”
I suck my lower lip into my mouth and resolutely shake my head. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I want to be taken, to become his, for however brief the moment will be. I know he just means physically, but my heart aches with how much I want it to mean more—scary and ominous and sincere as that is.
“Then relax for me.” He works himself through my slit, coating the velvety, smooth length of him in a way that makes me shiver with need, then lines himself up at my entrance. Reclaiming his grip on my waist, he pulls me towards him with both hands and pushes forward at the same time. It’s just enough that the tip of him nudges inside.
In spite of all that wetness, in spite of the languid, relaxing feeling left over in my muscles from my first mind-blowing orgasm… it’s a fucking stretch.
“Oh my God,” I whimper.
“Relax,” he repeats, adding more force to his voice through gritted teeth. But his thumbs stroke against the bottom of my ribcage, an unspoken apology for the harsh tone.
I try, but he’s so thick that I can’t help but tense against the intrusion. I feel my body resist as he forces me open around him. He was right to use three fingers—I’ve never been so thoroughly filled. It stings a bit.
But he doesn’t push inside me all at once. With the last shred of his control, he holds me still and nudges forward slowly, letting me feel every stretching inch as it parts me.
