Ruined

by EM BROWN

  Standing before me, he cups my chin and lifts my gaze to his. “You don’t want me to be your first.”

  I sigh in exasperation. “Then what’d you buy the condoms for?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Do you not want to do it with me?”

  He drops my chin and seems upset. “Why don’t you go take a shower. Then I’ll take you home.”

  “I don’t want to go home!”

  Little fires appear in his eyes. “I don’t do vanilla sex. And if you were my sub, that kind of behavior would land you in a lot of trouble.”

  I want to point out that what just happened was surely “vanilla” relative to BDSM, but I don’t want to anger him more, and I’m too frustrated to come up with a good response, so I stomp, a little petulantly, off to the bathroom.

  I close the door and stare at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are still flushed from the orgasms. I know I don’t turn a lot of heads, but I’m decently attractive. Talia’s co-worker at the coffee shop seems to like me, and an older businessman at The Montclair once tried to hit on me. Sure, my breasts could be bigger and my ass smaller, but a lot of women would want my body. So why is Tony so resistant to me?

  Shaking my head, I turn on the shower. I guess I’m not his type. He really does prefer non-virgins, Asians, or blonds.

  But he couldn’t be completely immune to me or he wouldn’t have gotten it up at all, right?

  Strange how, just days ago, I was perfectly fine with the state of my virginity, and now I’m not. I’m okay with losing my virginity to him, and either he doesn’t believe me and thinks he knows better, or he simply doesn’t want to do it with me. Which is it?

  As I rub the hotel bath gel over me and rinse away the wetness between my legs, I decide I’m going to find out once and for all. If it’s the latter, he’s got to own up to it. If the former, he can take his patronization and shove it.

  I slip into one of the hotel’s super-fluffy robes and walk out of the bathroom to see that Tony’s out on the balcony again, opening his cigarette case.

  “I think San Francisco law prohibits smoking within a hundred and twenty feet of a public building,” I say.

  “Are you some kind of smoking police?” he returns, putting away his cigarette case.

  I glance down for a moment. “Mo—my father—died from lung cancer. He smoked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He quit when I was adopted, but it was too late.”

  “You worried I’m going to die?”

  “I wouldn’t want anyone’s life to be cut short if it didn’t have to be.”

  He crosses his arms in front of him. “You don’t know me. What if I’m a complete connard—asshole? What if I deserve to die?”

  I consider the question before replying, “I don’t know you, so I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Do you smoke a lot?”

  “I grew up between Paris and Vietnam and spend a lot of time in China. Smoking is pretty popular in all those places. It’s been said over half the men in China smoke, though Beijing has started cracking down on smoking in the past few years.”

  “I’d say there’s a good number of smokers in North Carolina, but not as high as half the male population. There are a lot fewer smokers here in California for sure. Or, at least, I don’t come across as many. Lila never let me touch a cigarette. Not even one of those e-things.”

  “All for the best.” He uncrosses his arms. “You ready to go?”

  I take a deep breath. It’s shaky, but I manage to spit out the words clearly.

  “I’m not going.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  No reaction from him. Why does that make me more nervous?

  “You want to stay at the hotel?” he asks calmly.

  “I’m not leaving until...until we have sex.”

  Land sakes. I really said that.

  His eyes steel. “We had sex.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  A muscle ripples along his jaw. He’s not happy. This has got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. What was I thinking? But I can’t walk back now. That would be wimpy.

  “I want to go all the way,” I add.

  He closes his eyes in a rare show of vulnerability. When he opens them, I feel like I’m in a heap of trouble.

  He strides over to me. “Your mother ever teach you to be careful what you ask for?”

  “Sure. Look, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck—”

  “The what?”

  “Turnip truck. It’s a Southern metaphor. It means I’m not naive, so stop treating me like a child.”

  He nods as if to say ‘okay.’ The next moment, I’m crushed to him, and his lips are bruising mine. He devours my mouth like he’s starving, and it hurts. But in a good way because I have my answer. He wants me.

  There are no tender kisses this time, no soft caresses. Only hard groping and brutal kissing. He shoves his hand between my legs. The rubbing has me instantly wet. With his lips still locked to mine, he works me till my sex is gushing, and I might as well not have showered. He rips open the knot in the bathrobe as if angry with it. He grabs a breast. The stimulation to multiple parts of my body sends my arousal through the roof.

  Instead of gently laying me down on the bed like he did before, he pushes me down this time. He starts to unbutton his shirt. "You want to get fucked? Get ready to be fucked."

  I brace myself. I'm nervous. Maybe I shouldn't have forced his hand this way. I shouldn't have upset him. But I've dug my own grave, now I've got to lay in it.

  Remembering that the condoms are in the other room, he leaves to go get them.

  Now is your chance, a small voice tells me. You can lock yourself in the bathroom.

  But I remain motionless on the bed. I'm relieved that he remembered the condoms. I don't think I could have stopped him if he chose to proceed without. And that's when I realize that my actions were risky.

  He dumps the contents of the bag on the bed: a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant. After undoing his buckle and pants, he strips them off. He's now fully naked, and he looks great: chiseled, masculine, but not bursting with beef like some heavyweight bodybuilder. He's perfectly proportioned and his skin is completely unblemished and even except for what looks like a scar on his left pec. If I weren't so nervous, I might work up the courage to touch him, to run my fingers over the planes of his chest and the ridges of his sixpack.

  And then there's that. The stiff pole between his legs.

  His body hovers over mine. I want him to kiss me again, but his mouth aims for my breasts. He grasps one harshly, making me gasp, then gives me a few teasing licks on the nipple before covering the hardened nub with his mouth. The heated pressure on my sensitized nipple makes my sex throb. I need something to spear the ache between my legs.

  He lays atop me but props himself up on his elbows. I savor his weight upon me. I can feel his erection between us. The skin to skin contact makes it even more real.

  A cool wind blows in from the balcony, but his body heat coupled with my arousal keep me warm.

  He claims my lips once more, but it’s more controlled this time. His tongue delves deep into my mouth, entangling with mine. My head spins with pleasure. I don’t remember enjoying the act of kissing with this much fervor, but maybe that’s because it’s been so long. Or maybe it’s him and the way he kisses: domineering but not stifling, passionate but not messy. It melts and agitates my insides. I can’t get enough, yet the tension building between my legs wants more than kissing.

  He cups the side of my face and tilts my chin with his thumb. He knows exactly how he wants my mouth positioned beneath his. He gives me room to return his kiss, and I savor the heat of his mouth, the taste of his lips and tongue, glad that he hasn’t smoked. My hips press up toward him, wanting to grind my ardor against him.

  His mouth moves down beneath my jaw and latches onto my throat. My back arches, and my nipples graze his chest. While kissing and lightly sucking my neck
, his hands caress and grope my breasts, my waist, my hip, my buttock. I cry out when he starts to suck hard on my nipple. It’s a little too much pressure. No, it’s bearable. I like his mouth on my body. Surprisingly, the discomfort stokes rather than diminishes my arousal. He increases the pressure of his sucking. I gasp, then sigh with relief when he stops sucking to tongue the sensitive nub instead. But then he’s back to sucking. My hands grasp his shoulders, but I don’t push him away. He kisses my nipple, providing fleeting seconds of respite, before attacking the bud once more. My nipple has never felt so hard in my life. The alternation between the barely-bearable sucking and light licking drives me crazy.

  His hand slips between my thighs as he addresses my other nipple. I dread and want his attention at the same time. His thumb works its magic on my clit, and either my other nipple has a higher pain threshold or the pleasure fanning from my clit distracts me from his intense sucking and licking. My body’s a mess from his assault. My patience thins. I want him inside me.

  But he takes his time stroking me. He kisses his way back up and brushes his lips against my ear.

  "You better be sure you want this," he murmurs.

  I do! I do! Especially when you touch me like that...

  But I manage to sound halfway composed when I reply, "I'm sure. You don't have to keep checking as if you need a signed and notarized consent form."

  I'm not exactly sure where that sass came from. Maybe it's nerves. Maybe it's my eagerness. He didn't expect it either and raises his brow. His hand grasps my jaw, a little too tight for comfort. "That kind of impertinence could land you a world of pain, ma petite."

  I'm not positive what he just called me. Some kind of harmless term of endearment, I'm guessing. His French accent makes it sound super sexy, whatever it is. But I'm more focused on the phrase "world of pain."

  His cock presses against my thigh, tantalizingly close to the void I need him to fill. I could simply lay back and enjoy his fondling, allow the rapture from it to take me to carnal heaven, but my body yearns for a more significant joining of the bodies, of him and me becoming one.

  My lashes flutter beneath his piercing gaze, and my impudence turns into a soft plea. "Please."

  "Please?"

  "Please do it."

  He replaces his thumb with the tip of his cock and moves it gently along my clit. I inhale sharply. He's so very close now to being inside of me. And it feels so good. He strokes himself against me, sometimes dipping lower, teasing the folds below until I whimper and squirm.

  "You want this badly, do you?"

  "Yes."

  I'm going to go crazy if he doesn't... Feeling the head of his cock at my opening, I brace myself.

  "Breathe out," he tells me.

  I do so as he parts me down there. He's probably not even halfway in but it feels like a semi is trying to park itself in a spot reserved for compact cars.

  Holding himself in place, he fits his thumb between our bodies and finds my clit. Because I don't want him to stop, I mask the pain of having my most intimate spot split open.

  Stoking the arousal until I'm ready to take more of him, he slides more of his cock into me, stretching me, filling me. He claims my lips tenderly. I am one hot mess of conflicting sensations. The pain has receded but it's still there. Lust burns as strong as ever. With his fondling, he coaxes my ardor to take the reins. My craving for relief overtakes any and all discomfort. Gradually, he begins to move inside me. He mutters what I think is an oath in French.

  His movements renew the pain, but desire has grown stronger. I'm ready to burst down there. As if allowing me to breathe unhindered, he has stopped kissing me. My eyes are closed as I relish the sensation of being filled by him, but I can feel him staring down at me.

  I've come across the occasional porn video. One of my exes had a bunch of them saved on his computer. Tony's motions aren't at all like the jackhammer sex I've seen in porn. Despite the few glimpses of roughness, Tony's movements are surprisingly tender. Once again, pleasure boils between my thighs. My body takes in more of him, wanting the discomfort to take the edge off my intense desire. I grind against him. With a groan, he sinks deeper. He flicks my clit more fervently. I am hurled, shaking and crying, into the arms of orgasm.

  I'm amazed that my body can find such bliss after the initial pain. I know from talking to other women that not everyone climaxes their first time, and I feel pretty darn lucky. I couldn't know for certain what Tony would be like in bed. But I had wanted him so badly, it didn't matter. He didn't have to see to my orgasms, and I’m grateful he filled my first time with exquisite pleasure. In the end, he was the right guy to lose my virginity to.

  When I settle down from my euphoria and open my eyes, however, I take back my thoughts of gratitude. There's a look in his eyes that makes my breath catch in my throat.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “You don’t think we’re done, do you?”

  I’m still in a post-coital daze, so I don’t ask him what he means by that.

  I notice he still feels hard inside of me, and when he slowly withdraws, I see that his cock hasn’t softened one bit. There’s blood on the condom, my thighs, and the bathrobe beneath me. I blush, thinking about the maid that has to deal with the dirty linen.

  He looks up from the blood and into my eyes.

  “I’m okay,” I answer his unvoiced question. I feel raw and sore between the legs, but it doesn’t bother me.

  “Good.”

  Without warning, he flips me onto my stomach. He pulls me up to my knees by the hips. I panic at first because my face is buried in the bed, then flush because my ass is facing him. Though I’m lean, I manage to have a rounded backside. I would much rather have that extra flesh in my boobs, even though Lila always told me God made me perfect the way I am. Even Andre, overhearing me ask a friend if my butt looked big in a certain pair of jeans, chimed in to say he was proud he had a sister who’s “got back.” But I don’t find much comfort in the lyrics of Sir Mix-a-Lot or the opinions of a younger brother, no matter how much I love Andre.

  And, oh God, Tony’s studying my ass. I’ve managed to turn my head to see him on his knees behind me, his head slightly tilted as he stares at my butt. The other day I thought a pimple might be forming on my right butt cheek because my new underpants had shrunk in the wash and kept rubbing against me. I hope there’s not a zit on my butt.

  Tony caresses a buttock, and I decide maybe it’s better I don’t look. He grabs several pillows and puts them beneath my stomach to prop me up. Then he grabs my wrists and holds them behind my back with his hand. He taps his cock against my derrière, and for a second, I worry that he’s going to take my back entrance. I never agreed to anal sex, and in my current position, with my hands pinned behind me, there’s nothing I can do to stop him. But his cock slides into my wet slit.

  O. M. G.

  The stretching still hurts, but not as bad as the first time he penetrated me. And there’s something about this angle, the areas within me that he touches that is positively exquisite. He brushes his free hand along the arch of my back. Then, still holding my wrists, he wraps his other hand around my hip to fondle my clit. I am in some other heaven. It’s like my clit exists inside and outside of me. If it weren’t for the orgasm waiting for me at the end, I’d want to stay in this place forever.

  I groan in appreciation, in pleasure, in excitement. There’s something more naughty, more titillating about this position. I shiver when Tony bucks lightly against me.

  He seems to sense my wonder because he remarks, “Never thought you’d like doggy-style this much?”

  He works my clit until I’m ready to explode. I thought I was perfectly satisfied after the last orgasm, but now I’m starved again.

  But he withdraws his hand from between my legs and presses his cock deeper inside. My legs quiver. My clit pulses. Tension is coiled below my belly. He starts a steady thrusting, dragging his cock through me in a way that sends flutters of delight through my loins. I al
most can’t stand how good it feels. He touches me between the legs again, and within seconds, I am convulsing. I exhale a high and ragged cry as rapture somersaults inside my body. He thrusts harder, deeper, plowing ecstasy against my body until I am tempted to beg him to stop.

  He straightens and slams his hips into my ass.

  God Almighty.

  I didn’t realize how much he had been holding back till now. It’s not about me or my body anymore. He’s seeking his own release, using my body to hurl him to where I just returned from. My teeth chatter from the force of his thrusts. The sound of his grunting, of his pelvis smacking loudly into my backside fills my ears. He exchanges depth for speed. I’m not sure which is easier to take, but now I know what it means to be fucked hard.

  He drives me into the bed, and after a few final thrusts, I hear him roar and feel him tremble. He bucks more gently against me before he finally releases my wrists. His cock pulses furiously inside of me. My body has never received a pounding like that before. At times it hurt as much as when that line drive in softball struck me in the leg. But I’m glad for him, glad he achieved his fulfillment and that I had played a part.

  After withdrawing, he collapses onto the bed next to me and pulls me to him.

  “Pardon. I’m sorry if I went too hard,” he says after blowing out a breath.

  “It’s totally fine,” I reply. It’s not a hundred percent true, but, as Mo would often say, it’s good enough for jazz.

  Tony seems contemplative, and when he speaks, his words carry an ominous tone. “You’re going to wish you heeded my warning.”

  I LIKE BEING CURLED beside him, and I don’t want to talk about buyer’s remorse. I assume that’s what he’s referring to. Anyway, I decide to ignore his words. My gaze sweeps over his body, gorgeously tan, gorgeously masculine. I run a hand over his pecs and down his six-pack. Unlike me, he could be a model. It’s not just his looks and muscles that would make him a good one. It’s his posture, his devastating gaze, and the way he carries himself. Eric Drumm is taller, but he comes across as a kid next to Tony.