The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

I gasped and latched a hand on his forearm. Not to stop him. It was instinctual from the sensation he caused. It felt so good. A featherlight caress over my swollen clit, but it packed a punch of pleasure, and a shudder rattled through me.

It was warm in the car, but not terribly so. Still, sweat blossomed on my skin. Royce’s distracting mouth on mine and his hand grinding against me caused my knees to fall open as wide as possible with the jeans still wrapped around my ankles. I looked ridiculous like this. My shirt was on, and it couldn’t look sexy, me in this state of half-undress. But his hand moving inside my black satin underwear? That was undeniably hot.

I broke the kiss and pressed my forehead to his. His dick was already half-hard, straining against the fly of his shorts. I whispered as I reached for him. “Let’s get naked.”

But he shifted to prevent my touch and slid a finger past my entrance. I was already breathless and coming apart, but his voice was low and solid. “I’m dictating how this goes, Marist.”

His thick finger slipped further inside, making me freeze. Like last time, his gentle, slow thrust felt uncomfortably tight but also weirdly good. I liked the stretch of my body as it got used to him.

I let out a shuddering breath as he leaned over and pulsed his finger in and out, going a little deeper with each pass. He stopped kissing me abruptly and withdrew. It was so he could jerk the front of my panties down. When I understood what he was trying to do, I closed my legs and lifted my hips, helping him work my underwear down until it was also caught around my ankles.

This time, when he plunged his finger back inside me, he wasn’t gentle. He asserted his ownership of me, and my body responded, clamping down. He let out an appreciative groan, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a wicked smile.

He rocked his finger in and out, picking up the pace as he studied me. That dark, intense stare of his was as fiery as the sun. Now, it was sweltering in the car. Sweat dampened my temples and the nape of my neck.

I tipped my head back, letting it rest on the seat as trembles inched up my legs—

“Oh,” I said on a shallow breath.

One finger felt good, but two fingers . . . were too much, too fast. I had a hand on his shoulder, but I curled my fingers into a fist. My body tightened with discomfort. I knew I’d get used to it, but I needed a moment.

“Uh . . .” I started.

He blinked slowly. “Too much?”

I bit my lip and nodded.

He stilled, leaving his fingers lodged inside me. “My dick’s bigger than two fingers,” he whispered. “You sure you still want it?”

My mouth rounded into an ‘oh’ as I realized what he was doing. He was hoping I’d back down from this challenge, but it wasn’t going to work. I wanted it too much. “I’m fine. Just go slow.”

It was strange how he could look disappointed and relieved at the same time. His fingers moved, unhurried and deliberate, working the tension loose from my muscles. The dull ache of fullness eased, and it wasn’t long before I began to rock my hips in time with his thrusts.

The air in the car was so humid, I was breathing in liquid. I closed my eyes as Royce planted a kiss on my lips. I couldn’t watch the corded muscles in his arm flex as he sawed his fingers deep between my legs. He mouthed more kisses on my chin and down my neck.

“When I put a ring on your finger,” he murmured in the hollow of my throat, “I’ll fuck you non-stop. I’m going to get inside you, Marist, and probably never want to leave.”

My eyelids burst open.

“But not until then,” he added.

Before I could process what he meant, he wedged three fingers inside me, driving deep and hard. My body jerked, and I hissed loudly. This wasn’t discomfort.

It was pain.

A hot, intense sting, like a bandage being ripped off in a quick, unapologetic jerk.

I seized his wrist with both hands and shoved him away, but it was too late. His fingertips came away smeared red with my blood.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

His apology had sounded genuine, but there wasn’t shock or surprise in his voice—like he’d expected this to happen. His words from earlier finally made sense, how he’d wanted to give me the best chance for me to enjoy my first time.

He’d broken my hymen just now, and he’d done it intentionally.

ELEVEN

I STRAIGHTENED IN MY SEAT and stared at Royce. Inside my head, I cursed his stupid handsome face and what he’d done. My cheeks burned a million degrees. I didn’t want to look at his fingers, or down at my legs. The ache was either subsiding, or I was too scattered and embarrassed to notice it anymore.