A Virgin Enslaved (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance) (11 page)

This all-consuming, wonderfully warm and invasive penetration.

This sharing and melding of bodies, this grinding of hips against hips, this marvelous sweet melty sticky merging of flesh and fluids. And he’s pounding so hard into me that I don’t feel any pain at all, merely the sweeping of a rushing vortex, and bliss, and the glorious moist velvet expansion of his flesh within mine. And it’s a cocoon that I want to dwell in forever, and oh –

Oh

Oh!!!

Ohhhhhhhhh!

I cry against his lips, and he holds me even tighter as my body shudders and contorts into a helpless mess, and I can hear him cry out against my neck as well – an explosion of sound within his chest – and the vibration of his chest wall against my breasts. His molten liquid semen geysers suddenly into me, and it’s –

Oh no

Neither of us has used any protection.

But my mind is running too much of a marathon to care, and I’m still riding on the crest of some infinitesimal heavenly wave, and I’m imploding, and exploding, and fusing, and defusing . . . and I’m collapsing against him, and he’s allowing me to collapse against him, and he’s holding me so tightly as he pumps out the last of his hot semen into me.

We are both panting and descending as he withdraws his cock from me. And I look down at his organ for the first time – that wonderful rod that has been inside me – and see that it’s large and red and dripping with white cum. And there’s a streak of my dark blood amid all that goo, and my heart quails and simultaneously swells at the sight of it.

His underwear and pants are not even off. They drape around his ankles, and he’s letting me down on the floor now. At least, my feet are touching it. But he still holds my waist to support me, as if he’s not sure he can let me go yet.

A funny look comes over his blue-green eyes as he looks at me, and he’s suddenly embarrassed. Like he’s looking into the eyes of a stranger.

Which I essentially am.

As he is to me.

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, bending down to pull up his pants. “I don’t know what came over me.”

I can only pant in reply. I’m still not grounded, I think. I’m still floating in that eyrie of consciousness between orgasm and its slow aftermath.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. There’s a hint of regret (
oh no
) in his eyes as he zips up his pants and gathers his clothes from the floor. “I should have used a condom.”

I can only watch all this in a vague haze. I get the impression that this is a man not used to regrets, or helplessness, or anything he would consider ‘weak’. Indeed, even as I gaze upon his features, they rearrange and recompose themselves.

He puts his shirt and jacket back on and he’s a mask again. His shoulders are straightened, and now fully clothed, he’s a portrait of Adonis. Virile. Studly. In control.

“I should get going now,” he says. That hint of uncertainty that he has only momentarily revealed to me is gone. “Thank you . . . it was nice.”

He doesn’t look at me. Without another word, he hurries out of the stall.

I can only stare helplessly at the open door as his footsteps pad away. The handle of the main restroom door wrenches open and the door shuts with a firm thud.

That’s the last I will ever see of him.

I lost my virginity to a gorgeous stranger.

Was it worth it?

Hell, yes.

The strength drains out of me in torrents, and I slowly sink to the floor on my naked haunches, shivering.

What have I just done?