Page 21 of Santa Daddy
"You taste like you're mine," he said.
Then he was moving.
Carrying me to the floor.
Carpet soft under my back. His body covering mine.
"I need to tell you something." His voice was rough.
What? What could possibly?—
"This is going to hurt." His eyes locked on mine. "First time always does."
My brain short-circuited.
First time. He knows. How does he?—
"I've never—" The words stuck in my throat.
"I know." His hand cupped my face. Almost gentle. "I can tell."
How? How can you?—
"The way you move. The way you flinch from touch." His thumb brushed my cheek. "You're a virgin, kotyonok. And I'm about to change that."
Panic flooded sharp and cold.
"Wait—"
"No waiting." His hand slid between us. "You want this. I want this. Rest is just noise."
Then I felt him.
Blunt pressure against my entrance.
This is really happening. This is?—
He pushed inside.
The burn was immediate.
White-hot.
Tearing.
My body fighting him, muscles clenching, trying to push out the invasion.
Too much. Too big. Stop?—
"Breathe." His voice was strained. "Breathe through it."
But breathing was impossible when he was splitting me open, when pain was lancing through my core, when I could feel myself tearing to accommodate him.
He slid deeper.
I bit down on my lip. Tasted copper.
"Almost." His forehead pressed to mine. "Almost there, kotyonok."
