Making Their Vows

I’m at the fighter’s mercy.

I’ve just given him permission to do whatever he wants to me, whenever he wants. Somehow, at the tender age of eighteen, I’ve tossed the reins of my sexuality to this man and it feels incredible. Exhilaration. Like I was just waiting for this moment to arrive all along.

“I stayed innocent for you,” I whimper between kisses, need gripping me when he groans loudly into my neck at that statement. “I waited, I waited, I—”

His mouth cuts me off with a turbulent kiss, raking his tongue against mine until my sex begins to squeeze, signaling the approach of an orgasm. Already? Lord, oh Lord. I can’t think straight. I can’t concentrate or fill my emptying lungs. I’m tied up in a rope and he’s holding the other end. “Fuck yes. I’m your first man, Gracie. I’m your last man. I’m all you know now. I’m fucking it. You dress and undress for me. You breathe for me, like I breathe for you.” His mouth is moving directly on top of mine, teeth bared. “You’re the only female who’ll ever make my dick hard. And I’m the only man who makes this pussy drip. We. Are. Each other’s. Period.”

A hot tear escapes my eye and rolls down my temple. My vision is unclear.

All I can do is chant “yes, yes, yes” as North’s mouth travels down my body, licking and sucking my nipples, molding my breasts in his calloused hands, squeezing, holding them in tight fists one second and treating them to featherlight touches the next. My sex is so wet, I can feel beads of feminine moisture slipping through my folds, onto my thighs and into the valley of my bottom. It should be embarrassing, but it’s not. It’s not. Especially when he drags his tongue down to my belly and lower, fitting his mouth to my cleft and moaning.

“Ah Jesus Christ, you wet little virgin.” He pushes my thighs apart and parts my sex with a long, thorough lick. “I’m going to do bad, bad things to you.”

His tongue barely grazes my clit before the orgasm snaps and I scream, the throaty sound echoing in the bath house, pleasure roaring through me at an alarming speed. I can’t keep up and I don’t try. I just ride it out, grinding my flesh against the only friction it knows or needs—North’s stiff tongue. My naked body is shaking violently, his dark head buried between my legs, those golden eyes peeking up at me over my mound. And I can’t seem to come down from the crest. It twists undiscovered muscles and shatters me, leaving North to pick up the pieces and he does. Oh my God, he moves on top of me again, grounding me with his big body, his presence, his reassuring mouth. He surrounds me and owns me with his confidence, his ownership, his reverence of me. He’s the turbulent ocean and the life raft. I’m treading water and clinging at the same time.

“You’re getting my cock now,” he pants against my lips, unfastening his jeans with one hand. “Because I’m telling you it’s time. And that’s all you need to know. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Those two words pop out unfamiliar and unplanned.

I’m mortified. I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe I called him that. He’s going to think I’m sick or demented or crazy—

“Again.” He seems to be holding his breath, a new, darker awareness transforming his expression. “Goddamn, Gracie. Call me that again.”

I close my eyes and whisper it. “Daddy.”

“Fuck. Oh fuck.” Those words rush out of him—and then I’m being entered. Roughly. I’m being filled by North’s thick shaft, my slippery sex stretching to allow him inside. “That’s it. That’s exactly what I need to be to you. God, Grace. I’m your Daddy.” He rolls his hips on a guttural sound, pressing open my thighs as he sinks deeper, deeper, all the way inside me until his balls meet the lips of my femininity. Grinding in a slow circle. “And you. You’re my tight…” He hisses, shuddering on top of me. “Tight little virgin. Does it hurt, baby? Please say no.”

Hurt is a funny word. It’s a way to describe pain. But I’m hurting in two ways now. With the discomfort of being breached for the first time—and now…now I’m also hurting with the need for another release. Because he’s so huge and spectacularly male on top of me, throat muscles flexed, his handsome face already so beloved by me. “I hurt in a good way. I hurt for you. For more.” I let my legs open wider and he makes a rough sound, sinking in slightly deeper. “Take off your shirt. Please.”

“Anything you want. Anything.” He whips off his top, throwing it aside, messing up his dark hair in the process. Uncovering that incredible wall of muscle, all cut and sinewy, shadow and light playing off the rippling indents on his shoulders, arms. “See, I might be in control of when we fuck, but I’m here to orgasm my little beauty. Aren’t I? That’s my goddamn job and I want to be so good at it that your pussy gets wet when I snap my fingers. Going to find out what you need and give it to you. Fucking constantly. Constantly. You want me to walk around shirtless for you, baby, I’ll burn every shirt I own. What else do you like?” He snaps his hips back and thrusts forward—hard. One two three. “You like that? You want more of that?”