“Please, just do it, Rodrigo, hard, just take me.”
The agony in her sobs was the last straw. He had to give her what she needed, couldn’t draw his next breath if he didn’t.
He thrust past her resistance, buried half of his shaft inside her rigid tightness.
It was only when her shriek tore through him that he understood what was that ripping sensation he’d felt as he’d driven into her. And he no longer understood anything.
It was impossible. Incomprehensible.
She was a virgin?
Eleven
Rodrigo froze on top of Cybele, half-buried in her depths, paralyzed. A virgin? How?
He raised himself on shaking arms. Her face contorted and a hot cry burst from her lips. He froze in midmotion, his gaze pinned on hers as he watched her eyes flood with the same confusion, the same shock along with tears.
“It shouldn’t hurt that much, should it?” she quavered. “I couldn’t have forgotten that.” Dios. He’d wanted to give her nothing but pleasure and more pleasure. And all he’d done was hurt her.
“No” was all he could choke out.
She digested that, reaching the same seemingly impossible explanation he had. “Then you have to be…my first.”
Her first. The way she said that, with such shy wonder, made him want to thrust inside her and growl, And your only.
Something far outside his wrecked restraint-probably the debilitating cocktail of shock and shame at causing her pain-held him back from that mindless display of caveman possessiveness.
“I remember I wanted to wait until, y’know, I met…the one. I assumed that when I met Mel…But it-it seems I wanted to wait until we were married. But…”
He’d been trying to get himself to deflate, enough to slip out of her without causing her further pain. He expanded beyond anything he’d ever known instead. His mind’s eye crowded with images of him devouring those lips that quivered out her earnest words, those breasts that swelled with her erratic breathing.
“But since there are ways for paraplegics to have sex, I still assumed we did one way or…” She choked with embarrassment. It was painfully endearing, when their bodies were joined in ultimate intimacy. “But it’s clear we didn’t, at least nothing invasive, and artificial insemination is essentially noninvasive…”
He shouldn’t find her efforts at a logical, medically sound analysis that arousing as she lay beneath him, shaking, her impossible tightness throbbing around his shaft, her torn flesh singeing his own. But-curse him-it was arousing him to madness. He wanted to give her invasive.
He couldn’t. He had to give her time, for the pain that gripped her body to subside. He started to withdraw. Her sob tore through him.
He froze, his own moan mingling with hers until she subsided. Then he tried to move again. But she clamped quaking legs around his hips, stopping him from exiting her body, pumping her own hips, impaling herself further on his erection.
“I’m hurting you.” He barely recognized the butchered protest that cracked the panting-filled silence as his. “Yes, oh, yes…” He heaved up in horror. She clung harder, her core clamping him like a fist of molten metal. “It’s…exquisite. You are. I dreamed-but could have never dreamed how you’d feel inside me. You’re burning me, filling me, making me feel-feel so-so-oh, Rodrigo, take me, do everything to me.”
He roared with the spike of arousal her words lashed through him. Then, helpless to do anything but her bidding, he thrust back into her, shaking with the effort to be gentle, go slow. She thrashed her head against the sheets, splashing her satin tresses, bucking her hips beneath his, engulfing more of his near-bursting erection into her heat. “Don’t. Give me…all of you, do it…hard.”
He growled his capitulation as he rose, cupped her hips in his palms, tilted her and thrust himself to the hilt inside her.
At her feverish cry, he withdrew all the way, looked down at the awesome sight of his shaft sinking slowly inside her again.
He raised his eyes to hers, found her propped up on her elbows, watching too, lips crimson, swollen, open on frantic pants, eyes stunned, wet, stormy. He drew out, plunged again, and she collapsed back, crying out a gust of passion, opening wider for each thrust, a fusion of pain and pleasure slashing across her face, rippling through her body.
He kept his pace gentle, massaging her all over with his hands, his body, his mouth, bending to suckle her breasts, drain her lips, rain wonder all over her.
“Do you know what you are? Usted es divina, mi belleza, divina. Do you see what you do to me? What I’m doing to you?”
She writhed beneath him with every word, her hair rippling waves of copper-streaked gloss over the crisp white sheet, her breathing fevered, her whole body straining at him, around him, forcing him to pick up speed-though he managed not to give in to his body’s uproar for more force.
“I love what you’re doing to me-your flesh in mine-give it to me-give it all to me…”
He again obeyed, strengthened his thrusts until her depths started to ripple around him and she keened, bucked up, froze, then convulsion after convulsion squeezed soft shrieks out of her, squeezed her around his erection in wrenching spasms.
The force, the sight and sound and knowledge of her release smashed the last of his restraint. He roared, let go, his body all but detonating in ecstasy. His hips convulsed into hers and he felt his essence flow into her as he fed her pleasure to the last tremor, until her arm and legs fell off him in satiation.
He collapsed beside her, shaking with the aftershocks of his life’s most violent and first profound orgasm, moved her over him with extreme care, careful to remain inside her.
She spread over him, limp, trembling and cooling. He’d never known physical intimacy could be like this, channeling into his spirit, his reason. It had been merciful he hadn’t imagined how sublime making love to her would be. He would have long ago gone mad.
He encompassed her velvet firmness in caresses, letting the sensations replay in his mind and body, letting awe overtake him.
He was her first. And she’d needed him so much that even through her pain, she’d felt so much pleasure at their joining.
Not that it had mattered to him in any way when he’d thought she’d belonged to Mel, had probably been experienced before him.
But now he knew she’d been with no one else, he almost burst with pride and elation. She was meant to be his alone.
And he had to tell her that he was hers, too. He had to offer her. Everything. Now. “Cybele, mi corazón,” he murmured into her hair as he pressed her into his body, satiation, gratitude and love swamping him. “Cásate conmigo, querida.”