My breath whooshed out of me. At least she was legal even if she was twelve years younger than me.
Thank God for small favors.
“Let me go,” I demanded again, and she turned her head and complied.
I pulled out, noticed the blood on the condom.
Madre di Dio.
I got up, walked across the room and into the bathroom, got rid of the condom, then drenched a washcloth with warm water and made my way back.
She was watching me, her eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry. It’s really not a big deal.”
Not a big deal? Not a big deal?
Fuck.
Of course, it was.
I fucked her, without even knowing she was still a virgin. Without going slow or carefully preparing her.
I sat down next to her, then forced her thighs apart and cleaned her of the traces of blood.
I threw the washcloth on the nightstand—I didn’t need another bloody spot on the carpet—then laid my head in my hands and sighed.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, sat up behind me, and slung her arms around me from behind, her breasts pressed against my back.
My dick immediately went from half-hard to full mast again. What the hell was wrong with me?
I rubbed my hands through my hair.
“What do we do now?” she whispered against my skin.
I sighed.
What was there left to do?
Only what every honorable Catholic man would do after taking a girl’s virginity. I would finish the job, and I would give her the best first time any girl had ever had, and then I would ask her if she wanted to marry me.
I turned, then drew her around me until she sat in my lap.
“I’m sorry, Sophia.”
“For what?”
“For not taking the time to give you what you really needed.”
“And what do you think it is that I need?”
I smiled. “Orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms.”
Then I pushed her back onto the bed.
I stared at her lips, then slid lower on the bed, trailing kisses down her neck and over her breasts. I took one nipple into my mouth, sucked hard enough to make her gasp.
I lost myself in the sensation of exploring her body, her smooth skin, her gasps and moans.
She became my whole universe. The center of my attention.