Page 93 of Wicked Savage Cruel
Is he okay?
I’m suddenly nervous. We’re going somewhere quiet which is good. Right? It’s what I want only I don’t even know this guy. Then again, that is kind of the point of tonight. Only… God. Come on, Bibiana. Stop being such a worrier.
Reaching the pool house, he opens the door and we both slip inside. The room is dark, some outside light filtering in through the sheer curtains. He drags me toward a sofa and sits, a soft hiss escaping his lips before he tugs me down beside him.
“Are you alright?”
The room is silent except for our breathing. I sit stiffly beside him, my fingers still laced with his as my eyes adjust to the darkness. His thumb rubs lazy circles across the back of my hand, then he shifts to face me.
“Just a sports injury. No big deal.”
I purse my lips. It’s summer. Sports have ended for the year. I guess it’s possible some practice over the summer months. I think football does maybe, but…
“Hey.” He pulls me closer. “Come here.”
He tugs me onto his lap, my thighs straddling his waist. His length presses against my core and I’m barely able to restrain myself from grinding against him.
He trails a finger along the side of my face, down my neck and settles it along the hollow of my throat. There’s something strangely intimate about the caress. “What’s your name?”
I hesitate.
“You holding back on me, mariposa?” I was right. Definitely Hispanic. His smile is both savage and sinful. There’s this energy to him that draws me in, but it also terrifies me. This is supposed to be a one-night thing. Good memories and a fun time, but nothing more. No attachments. But there’s something about him that tells me he’s someone I’d find myself easily attached to. It’s a good thing I’m only in Sun Valley for one more night. Wouldn’t want to become one of what I’m sure are his many admirers.
“Hardly, just, why not keep this interesting?” I suggest as casually as possible.
He raises a brow, shadows cast across his face from the moonlight filtering through the room. “You don’t wanna exchange names?” If anything, his grin widens.
I shake my head.
“What about phone numbers?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
Another shake.
He chuckles. “Damn, mariposa. And here I thought I was the player.”
If he only knew just how inexperienced I was. Stepping into the role I’ve set out for myself, I rock my hips against him and he hisses, his eyes glazing over with lust. “You’re playing a dangerous game, mariposa.”
“Why do you keep calling me a moth?” I ask, a breathy quality to my voice.
He leans forward, nipping at the column of my throat. “Not a moth. A butterfly,” he murmurs. His hands find my hips and he presses me down against him, his hips thrusting upward to grind against my center. Electricity crackles between us. He tilts my chin, drawing my lips to his and fusing them together. Stars explode behind my closed lids and every rational thought in my mind floats away.
The more he kisses me, the drunker I am on his taste, and the more I want to throw caution to the wind. This feels good. Right. I don’t even know him, but somehow, my body does. It craves him, silently begging for me.
His fingers dig into me, his erection hot between my legs. I weave my fingers through the short strands of his hair, pressing my chest against his, but it isn’t enough. His kiss is drugging, pulling me deep into an abyss I have zero desire to escape. When his hands slip beneath the hem of my dress, tugging it over my ass and then my head, bearing me to his dark and hungry gaze, I offer no resistance.
His eyes grow hooded as he lasers in on my chest, a hand coming up to thumb over one taught nipple. I shiver and he grins. The satisfied smile of a boy who knows the effect he has on a girl. He leans forward, capturing my breast in his hot mouth, his teeth grazing my nipple as I rock against him. My body aching and desperate for more friction.
Between kisses, I tug off his shirt. Unbutton his jeans. It takes next to no time for the two of us to find ourselves naked, clawing at one another’s skin and he wastes zero time in retrieving a condom from his discarded jeans pocket and rolling it on before pulling me down on top of him and lining himself up with my core.
A part of me wonders if I should say something. Let him know I’m a virgin. I’ve heard the stories. I know there is usually pain the first time. But I can’t convince myself to ruin this moment. I want this. Unequivocally and desperately. I want this.
His cock nudges my entrance and I stiffen, bracing myself for what’s to come. His hard, thick length pushes inside of me with slow and measured thrusts. I gasp at the sensations as he stretches me to my limits, to the point where pleasure merges with the sharp bite of pain.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hisses between clenched teeth.
My fingers dig into his shoulders as I seat myself on him. And when I feel that edge of resistance, that last layer of innocence I’m determined to stamp out, I don’t let myself think about it. I suck in a breath, steel myself, and press my hips down until he’s fully inside of me, pushing past the pain and focusing only on the pleasure.
He groans and slams his mouth against my own, consuming my cries and filling me up until I don’t know where I end and where he begins. “Your name, mi pequeña mariposa?” he prompts when I pull back to catch my breath. My little butterfly.
