Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,139
I blurt out. “Just us.”
Will laughs. “Don’t joke.”
His smile disappears as he sees I’m serious. I take my hand from his wrist and start to pull the condom from his cock, breathing nervously. I’ve never had sex without protection before. It was something drilled into my head when I was twelve years old, the day I got my first period. My father sat me down and explained the birds and the bees — in all it’s clinical, anatomically correct, sometimes horrifying detail for a child to understand.
I remember sitting on my hands in the chair across his desk, my stomach cramping painfully from my first ever bleed, wishing my mother were alive to soften the blow of becoming a woman. I’ll never forget Daddy sliding a carton of condoms across the table as he told me he knew he couldn’t stop me from having sex — but if I ever came home pregnant, I would have to have surgery to get rid of the baby.
He told me all about that, too.
Girls in our family who get pregnant before they’re supposed to, or to boys they’re not going to marry, get abortions and are never allowed to leave the house again.
Will knows this. He got the same talk from my father when we started dating. We hadn’t even held hands and my father was threatening to cut his dick off if he ever put it in me without a rubber firmly wrapped around it.
There really are no boundaries the men in my family won’t cross to keep decorum.
Will and I have done just about everything. He’s a filthy boy, and I’m a dirty girl. But we’ve never, ever, not even for a second, been skin on skin like that. This, despite the fact that I have an IUD fitted that prevents pregnancy. But nothing is one hundred percent. Nothing is guaranteed. And we’ve just always been overly cautious.
Until now. I just want to feel him inside me, with nothing to separate us. The thought of him coming inside me makes my whole body flush with anticipation, with rebellious lust. And he’s angry. He’ll be rough. Good.
Before I can get the condom all the way off, Will grabs my wrist, moving my hand away from him. I reach for him again and he smacks my hand away. The next thing I know, his fingers are sliding along my drenched pussy, and then he’s pushing them inside, three fingers, all the way to the knuckle. I gasp at the unexpected penetration, my hands clutching at the edge of the altar, a moan escaping my lips. A moment later he presses his thumb against my clit and starts to rub it, rough and insistent, as he fucks me with his hand.
“Wider,” he says, kicking the inside of my foot with his, forcing my legs farther apart so he can go deeper.
“Will—”
“No talking,” he cuts me off, pumping his fingers harder. I can hear how wet I am, because my arousal makes an audible noise every time he moves his fingers inside me. “There are only two reasons you would let me fuck you bare,” he continues, his thumb so insistent against my clit that I’m almost coming on his hand. I’m struggling to catch up. Will’s an excellent lover, but he’s not usually like this.
“Reason one,” he grinds out. “Your father finally decided to let you marry my dumb ass.”
“Will, please,” I beg. I’m not even sure what I’m begging for — him to let me talk, or let me have my orgasm, or for him to fuck me?
“I said. No. Talking.” He wraps one hand around my throat and squeezes, not hard enough to scare me, but enough to reduce my air supply to the bare minimum. Will keeps thrusting into me with his fingers, bringing me close to breaking point. I pant against his chokehold, taking tiny sips of air as my head begins to spin, my hips mimicking his movements as my body cries for release.
“Reason two,” he continues, anger rolling off him in waves. “Your father finally decided to make you marry that fucking pedophile who’s been following you around since you were a kid.”
His eyes tell me he already knows the answer. He swallows with difficulty, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. His fingers loosen around my throat, his other hand gone from between my thighs. “You’re my girl,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. When he looks back at me, his hazel eyes are shining.