“You’re about to, anyway.”
Anything else I could’ve said withered on my tongue.
He had me there. And I had to hope he wasn’t lying about his experience, because I wouldn’t be continuing that subject even if it meant my father would retire on the spot.
I spun on my heel and went into my room, pulling off my shirt and dropping it on top of the dresser before I turned around again.
And that was when my confidence in our ability to make it work evaporated into thin air and also ran away screaming.
Dimitri had already shucked his T-shirt and boxers. His cock clearly didn’t feel more than the very mildest of interest, hanging almost entirely limp against his thigh. And he still looked like that really quick shot from the end of that dumb movie about the 70s porn stars, where they finally showed a gasping audience what all the fuss had been about for the last two and a half hours.
“There is no fucking way in hell we’re going to make this work,” I muttered, unable to tear my eyes away.
“It gets bigger, especially when I knot,” Dimitri said unhelpfully. And then added, even more unhelpfully, “Sorry.”
Yeah. “I’m going to let you handle this. Lie back and think of England. That’s what you suggested, right?” I unfastened my jeans and shoved them and my own boxers down to the floor, stepping out of them and leaving them where they lay. “Consider this part of the job.”
I glanced over my shoulder as I turned to get on the bed, and I caught the strangest expression on Dimitri’s face. He wasn’t checking me out—I knew what that looked like. But he was examining me, head cocked a little, frowning as he surveyed my whole body from head to toe.
“Sure,” he said at last, as I settled down on the bed on my stomach, head turned so I didn’t suffocate in my pillows. “Part of the job.”
My skin prickled with awareness as he climbed onto the bed from the end, and my whole body felt flushed and heavy. When his knees brushed the insides of my legs as he moved up and into position, I flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. The bed dipped as he shifted his weight. A warm, callused hand landed on the small of my back, pinning me in place. “Settle down.”
The heat and weight of his hand filled my entire consciousness, and I wanted to writhe and scream, crawl out from under him and run the fuck away.
But he’d told me to settle down, and so I did, seething with nervous energy but held together and held down by the force of his voice more than the physical pressure itself.
The lube cap clicked. He’d opened it one-handed, so how could he put it on that same hand…that question was answered when a cold trickle hit the crack of my ass instead. I gasped, jolted, and bit my lip hard. Fuck. That felt so strange. Two points of consciousness now: the hand on my back, so hot, and the slick, sticky wetness sliding down toward my hole, all cold and making me shiver.
I had to brace myself, digging my fingers into the sheets and gritting my teeth, because I knew what was coming next.
And it did, a thick, strong finger pressing between my cheeks, swiping up some of the lube and then pushing against the tender skin of my hole. Dimitri slipped the tip of his finger inside, and I clamped down involuntarily, my body trying to keep him out and only succeeding in doubling the sensation of penetration.
“Easy,” he rumbled. “This isn’t about anything but mating, remember? We don’t have to enjoy it. That means there’s nothing to be nervous about, right?”
And weirdly, those words accomplished what none of my previous partner in this act’s reassurances and efforts to give me pleasure had done: they relaxed me. My eyes popped open, giving me a soothing view of my white pillowcase and off-white wall. Just like being at a spa, right? Lying on the table. Massages might hurt sometimes, but they helped your overall well-being—not that I’d taken the time to go get one for a couple of years, but still. I’d used to like them, even when the pain of having those tense muscles worked over by strong hands made me bite my lips to hold in a groan.
Pleasure wasn’t the point of this. I knew I’d hate it. So why fight it? Besides, Dimitri wouldn’t be offended or have his feelings hurt the way a real boyfriend would if I lay there like a lump and simply took his cock in stoic silence.
It was incredibly freeing.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice hitching as he pushed his finger deeper. “You’re actually right about that.”
A twist of his finger had me gasping again, but then he started working it in and out, steadily, like a piston in a well-timed engine.
“I’m right about a lot of things.” He slid his finger out almost all the way and a second joined it, both of them demanding entry. “You’ll see.”
“Too much,” I gritted out, as my ass stretched around those two big fingers.
“Nope, you can take it.”
“What—that’s not your call to ma—” I cut myself off with a moan as both fingers worked their way into me.
“See? Right about that too.” His smugness deserved a sharp retort, but pressed down into the bed by the strength of one of his hands while the other finger-fucked me, I didn’t have a lot of recourse. “You’re stretching open just fine, Brook.”
Something in the deep rasp of his voice as he said that made me shudder, my hips coming up off the bed as if I wanted to get him deeper, my body responding to him in a way that my mind couldn’t begin to control—or comprehend.
