Page 98 of Roulette Rodeo
"Breathe, baby," Shiloh's saying, and I realize I've been holding my breath. "That's it. You did so good. So fucking perfect."
Tears prick my eyes, but they're not from pain. They're from the overwhelming realization that I did it. I kept my promise to Mom. I waited, I chose, and I gave this piece of myself to someone who sees me as more than entertainment or commodity.
"You okay?" His voice is strained, and I can feel him trembling with the effort of staying still.
"Yeah," I whisper, and find that I mean it. "Yeah, I'm okay."
More than okay. I'm free. Free to want, to choose, to feel. The fullness is overwhelming, Shiloh buried deep inside me, but it's a good kind of overwhelming. Like my body finally makes sense, like this missing piece has clicked into place.
"I'm not a virgin anymore," I whisper, half in wonder, half in disbelief.
He cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "No, you're not. You're mine now."
The possessiveness should scare me. Should send me running. Instead, it makes me clench around him, drawing a strangled sound from his throat.
"Yours," I agree, testing the word. It tastes like freedom, oddly enough. Like choice. Because I chose this, chose him, chose to give what could never be taken.
He kisses me then, deep and claiming, and I start to move. Slow at first, learning the rhythm, the angle, the way our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. The initial discomfort fades, replaced by something else, something building low in my belly.
"Can you—" I start, then lose my words.
"What do you need?" He's watching me so carefully, ready to give me anything.
"Move," I manage. "Please, I need you to move."
He groans like I've shot him, but starts to pull back slowly. The drag of him against my sensitive walls makes me gasp, sensation rippling through me in waves. When he pushes back in, it's different. Still intense, still new, but there's something else building underneath the ache.
"There we go," he murmurs, finding a rhythm so gentle it makes my chest tight. "That's my girl. Taking me so well."
Each thrust brings new sensation, my body learning this dance it's never done before. The pain fades with each movement, replaced by something warm and spiraling. Not quite pleasure yet, but the edge of it, the promise that my body knows what to do even if my mind doesn't.
"You feel incredible," Shiloh grits out, and I can see the control cracking in his expression. "So tight, so wet for me. Been dreaming about this."
"Yeah?" The word comes out breathier than intended.
"Since that fucking storage closet," he admits, picking up the pace slightly. "Wanted to bend you over those boxes and claim you right there."
The image makes me clench around him, drawing another groan from his throat. I'm starting to understand the power in this—how my body can affect his, how we're connected in this primal, perfect way.
"Would've let you," I confess, surprising myself with the truth of it. "Would've given you everything right there with the mops and cleaning supplies."
"Romantic," he teases, but his hips snap forward harder, deeper.
The angle changes something, his cock dragging against a spot inside me that makes sparks shoot up my spine. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders, and he immediately does it again.
"There?" he asks, like he doesn't already know from the way I'm arching beneath him.
"There," I confirm, then lose all words as he focuses on that spot with military precision.
The ache is still there, will probably be there tomorrow, but it's drowned out by this new sensation building low in my belly. Different from when he used his fingers, deeper and more intense. Like my whole body is a string being wound tighter and tighter.
"That's it," Shiloh encourages, his control fraying at the edges. "Chase it, baby. Let me see you fall apart on my cock."
The crude words should embarrass me, but instead they make everything hotter, sharper. I've heard so much worse in three years of performances, but this is different. This is real, raw, meant only for me.
"I don't—I can't—" I'm babbling, lost in sensation.
"You can," he insists, shifting angle again, and oh. OH. "Come on, cherry. Give me one more. Show me how good I make you feel."
