He chuckles. “Do you want this, little one? Your body says yes.”
I’ve never done this. I’m a virgin. Please don’t hurt me.
The words catch in my throat. His fingers are on my clit, rubbing me from behind. I groan and rock my hips into his touch. It’s the only relief I feel, the only relief I’ve ever felt. He fondles roughly, which only seems to drive me higher. My legs are like jelly. The only things holding me up are my hands on the dresser and his fingers on my clit.
I don’t think he knows I’ve never done this, not with how rough he’s being. He must think I gave it up sometime in the club or at one of the parties. His fingers are too fast, too hard, and I’m on the brink of orgasm, hovering on the razor’s edge. He takes his hand away, and the loss is a physical pain, sharp and cold.
“This is what you wanted,” he says. “You think I didn’t know the way you looked at me? Fuck, you looked at me like that the first fucking night I met you, and you didn’t even know what it meant.”
He pushes the head of his cock against my slickness. Oh God.
The memories come back to me. I slept in the same room as my mother, on a mat on the floor. The room was connected to Leader Allen’s. He would wake her in the middle of the night, bring her to his room. The door was open. I could hear everything. And sometimes, when I crawled across the floor, see everything.
Kneel, he would tell her. And she would get on her knees beside the bed and pray. When she was done, when she had begged forgiveness, he would lift her up enough so her body was half on the bed. Then he would pull up his robes and—
A sharp pain presses me open, and I gasp. It hurts too much to speak, hurts too much to cry. My body is rejecting him, pushing him out—and losing the fight. I hold on to the dresser like my life depends on it, but it won’t matter. I’m being split apart. I can’t imagine I’ll survive it, but at least when I die, it will be over. It feels like my whole body is impaled.
Rough hands grab my hips, thick fingers bruising flesh. Another push and he’s farther in. God, how is there more? A sob finally escapes me.
“Ivan.”
“You’re so fucking tight,” he says between clenched teeth. “How the fuck are you so tight?”
My inner muscles clench and release, fighting his entrance every step of the way. I couldn’t relax them even if I wanted to. The burn is too much, the stretch is too wide. I pant against the dresser, my hands clasped together, praying for it to end.
“I’ve never—” My breath is coming too fast. Blackness is closing in. It’s like in the basement, except his hands aren’t around my throat. No, this time his cock is pushing inside my pussy—and it’s even worse. I can’t breathe, can hardly speak. “Never done this before.”
He freezes.
A long minute passes where the only thing I can feel is the throb of his cock, and the only thing I can see is black. I’m still conscious—barely. I’m panting, struggling to keep breathing, to stay here with him. To experience this thing I’ve wanted for so long, even if it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
“What did you say?” His voice sounds far away again, but strangely controlled. Completely unlike how he sounded two minutes ago, his fury uncontained.
In a painful wrench, he removes himself—it somehow hurts worse than it did going in, the salt of him stinging the tears in my skin. Without his hands or his cock, I collapse on the ground, leaning against the dresser. My hands are covering my sex, protective, though they do nothing to take away the pain.
A hand fists in my hair and pulls. I’m facing him, looking up at him while he looms over me. He’s still wearing his suit, his cock hard and jutting out. It’s an angry red from arousal, tinged glossy and pink with my blood. And it’s terrifying. It would have scared me if I had seen it anytime, but now that I know how much it can hurt, I’m even more scared.
He gives me a little shake by my hair. “What did you say?”
My throat feels raw, as if I’ve been screaming even though I haven’t. “I’m a virgin,” I whisper.
Or at least I used to be.
Chapter Sixteen
I always thought it was a little ironic, my virginity. My so-called virtue. I sho
uld have been keeping it safe to save my immortal soul, but the truth is I assume I’ve already lost any chance at heaven. I’m far from innocent regardless of what has or hasn’t been inside my pussy. I’ve given men lap dances, seen their come stain their pants as they explode. I’ve even fooled around with guys at parties, flirted and almost fucked.
Ivan’s expression is more angry than incredulous. “How the fuck is that possible?”
I manage a watery laugh, my voice somehow wry through my tears. “I’m a cock tease, Ivan. I thought you knew that about me.”
His hands curl into fists. “What the fuck were you saving yourself for? For marriage? For love?”
He sounds almost more disgusted by the idea of love than he is by marriage. “Maybe.”
The truth is I was saving myself for him, but I can’t deny his words. I did want him to love me, to marry me, even while I understood how impossible that was. I have a long history of wanting the impossible. I wanted Ivan to love me, even though he doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. He’s made of ice. I wanted to feel powerful with my body, even though most of the men who come through our doors would hold me down and fuck me if they got the chance.