On the Prowl

pushing in a second finger. I shuddered, groaned, as he stroked slowly in and out. Lovely, lovely, but I needed him. His pleasure, not mine, sweetly killing though it was. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
    “You won’t. God, you won’t. Please, Dontaine, I need you in me.”
    “Then let me come into you.” His fingers left me and I felt the hard wet head of him probe me for entrance. He pushed forward, but I was so tight and he was so wide, he did not enter. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, voice tight, strained.
    “No, no. You won’t. Please, please!”
    “ Don’t …” He pushed in hard and the head of him popped in past the tight sphincter. “…let…” Another push. “…me…” A gentle slide. “…hurt you.” More of him filling me, cramming me.
    “You won’t…it doesn’t!…Yes, yes, that feels so good…Oh, Dontaine,” I cried when he was finally seated deep and full within me. And I both lied and told the truth. He was too big and I was too stretched for it not to hurt a little. But it hurt in a good way. Oh God, yes. So good, so good. I groaned as he shuddered against me, holding himself still, buried deep inside me.
    “Mona Lisa…” I felt him trembling with restraint. But it wasn’t restraint I needed. And pain did not matter. I needed his release.
    I pulled forward then slammed myself back against him, and he gave a guttural cry at the tightness of me running over his length so unexpectedly like that. His hands clamped down on my hips, holding me still. “Stop,” he muttered harshly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
    “You’re hurting me by not moving,” I cried plaintively.
    “Behave,” he said, his hands like iron manacles as I tried to rock against him. His tone became whiplash sharp. “If you don’t, I’ll pull out.”
    The threat stilled me as nothing else would have.
    “I’ll give you what you want,” he said, breathing heavily, “but we do it my way. You’ll take what I give you, as slow or fast as I want to give it to you. Do you understand?”
    I nodded wildly.
    His hands left me, and I stayed obediently still and trembling beneath him. A harsh breath, two, then he leaned over me, covered me, like a stallion blanketing a mare. His lips brushed across my nape. “Trust me,” came his warm breath, stirring the soft hairs there.
    “Yes,” was my reply, and his teeth grazed lightly over my skin. So delicately, so dangerously. Setting off sunbursts of sensation where he touched.
    “Don’t…move,” he said huskily, a stark command. Trembling, I obeyed him as his hand slid across my belly and then lower until his fingertips, calloused and rough from sword practice, lay just over the swollen nub of my pearl. Only his words, and his threat, held me back from surging forward into the waiting promise of his touch. One moment, two. Then he rewarded me for my restraint by pulling a tiny increment out of me and pushing back in. The slow push and slide of him like that pushed me forward with his downstroke, so that his fingertips grazed my swollen nub, spilling a hot wash of sensation in me in both front and back.
    “Oh!” I moaned, cried, with that slight movement. But I held still.
    “Yes,” he crooned and licked my neck, a hot slide of tongue that was both soothing and arousing. “Yes.” And did it again. Pulled out, an increment more. Pushed back in. And though he still crammed me, stretched me, it was not unbearably so anymore. The sharpness of pain faded beneath his careful rocking in and out, and more pleasure spilled out, zinging through me with each lengthening stroke. Each firmer, harder thrust back into me, pushing my pulsing, swollen clitoris more firmly against the rough-gentle play of his fingertips. It was exquisitely pleasurable torture, even more so because I had to hold still, had to endure it. I whimpered with my pleasure and with my restraint. He nipped me, grazing my neck again with his teeth.
    “Ah, love,” he murmured, groaning, burying his head in the fall of my hair. “You feel so good. Remember…hold still,” he warned, and I braced myself for more wonderful, terrible things to come.
    Like a pulse from deep within him, I felt his energy ease, loosen, rise. Grow sharper, more electric. Until my very skin tingled from head to toe where he covered me with his greater length. He touched me nowhere in front except for the tantalizing play of fingertips upon that most sensitive, swollen nexus of nerves within me, a touch