Elizabeth Finn - Restoring Jordan

After studying his face for endless moments as my hand explores his body, I let my gaze catch up to my hand and take in the up close and personal view of him. He’s just as beautiful as he feels. The length and breadth of him is intimidating but arousing—even in my virgin fear of him. And while it promises to be all the more painful for me, it also promises to be all the more intense as well.

When at last he pulls my hand from him and rolls to his side to face me, I freeze. He’s ready. And when his hand travels back to the place his mouth so enticingly pleasured shortly ago, I tremble. He explores my body some more, stroking, gliding, and finally plunging his finger into my tight depths. His lips move to my ear as he comments on a husky breath, “You feel like liquid silk on my fingers—so very fucking wet.” He moves easily into my tight sheath as I continue to gulp calming breaths. However inexperienced I may be, my body is ready—more than ready, but my nerves are shot.

He pulls to his knees and pushes his way between my legs, spreading them wide open to his body. And as he eases back to sit on his heels, he tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth, slips the condom out, and drops the wrapper to the floor beside the bed. He pinches the tip between his fingers, positions it over the engorged head of his cock, and slowly rolls it down his length. His gaze is on mine as I watch his every move. His movements are so deliberate, and his eyes remain always on mine. He takes in my hitching breath, quick gasps, and flinching brow. He’s studying me as I study his movements, and it turns me on in a way that’s unexpected.

When he moves to cover my body with his and hovers over me, poised to invade my body, I panic. But when I look to his eyes and they once again watch my expression with interest, I stow the fear and focus on him. As he guides his cock to my sex and allows the head to nudge against my entry, I inhale sharply. He slides his length between the wet lips of my vagina, coating himself in my wetness, and as his length passes over the tight nub of my clitoris, I moan with no remaining control over my throat. His cock returns to my entry, and with his gaze still attached to mine, he nudges, pushing and readying himself to invade.

His first thrust is a savage invasion of my virginity and destroys that last barrier in a painful harsh explosion. I fight to control my response as the pain tears through me, and a moan escapes me, sounding more like I’ve been punched in the gut than fucked by a man. Truth be told, it hurts worse than a fist to the gut, and hearing my gut-wrenching groan, he stills and his brow furrows harshly. His lips are parted and he’s panting as he watches me, suddenly frozen. He looks concerned—truly, legitimately concerned at my reaction, and when he moves his hand to my cheek in what appears to be an inadvertent reaction to my pain, I melt.

He shouldn’t care, and yet he’s worried at my reaction. I didn’t take him to be a cruel man by any means, but I didn’t expect the panic flashing in his eyes, and it stills him in fear. Painful as his invasion was, I don’t want him to leave my body; I don’t want him to stop. I shake my head as he looks in my eyes, searching for some explanation for my reaction.

I say the only words that come to my mind. They’re pathetic but honest. “Please don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

His brow is still furrowed and with confusion etched across his face, he responds. “Am I hurting you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

I shake my head. Even that gesture is a lie, but I so desperately want this. I’ll take the pain, but I’m not turning back—not from this man. He watches me for many long moments longer as I try to calm my face, cool the flush of my cheeks, and act normal, and after watching me, studying me, he moves. He pulls slowly from my body, still studying my eyes and searching for my pain. I fight to disguise it as the tearing hurt rips through my body at his retreat, and when he thrusts again, far slower this time, I force my groan to stay in my throat. Eventually, convinced by my forced response, he sets aside his worry and concern, and his pace slowly builds. With every thrust, my body adjusts more and more, and the pain recedes; it hardly disappears, but it becomes manageable and even pleasurable. It’s done, and every invasion is taking me inexplicably toward a release I didn’t expect.

My body is responding to his incessant pounding force, and while the pain is present and intense, so too is the building orgasm that waits to be released. His eyes focus on me, and his panting and groaning fill the room as much as mine. He’s nearing release and waiting desperately for me to find mine. Watching his beautiful face as he continues to pound thrust after thrust into my tight sheath, I find it easily. When my orgasm takes over my body swiftly, I’m shocked and relieved. There’s pain, and coming does little to assuage being overfull and invaded, but there’s an incredible amount of unrelenting pleasure as well. His orgasm comes on the heels of mine, and as a guttural growl takes over his body in response to mine, it becomes worth every pain, every fear. His body spasms, and he releases himself within me.

My pain is subsiding, and my orgasm fades from my body. Experiencing the pain and pleasure of this orgasm in one breath was incredible—so completely alien to anything I’ve experienced in my life, and as he pulls from my body and pulls my back into his body, enfolding me in his arms, I revel in the closeness. His heart beats into my back as his breathing slows. His arms are strong and hold me tight to his body, and I thank God he can’t see my face that struggles to keep the smile from pulling at my lips. He was incredible, and it was more than I imagined it could be—painful but so very powerful and fulfilling. The image of his concerned expression taking in my expression touched my heart in a very personal way I didn’t expect. I shouldn’t have cared. He’s certainly not supposed to have cared, and yet his face and eyes very clearly showed worry and fear at my response.

His breathing slows and deepens as I stay in his arms, and the pain in my body slips away, leaving nothing but a dull ache. He falls asleep as I’m still reliving every intoxicating moment of this night. Even the most painful moments of it are tinged in a sweet, erotic haze that brings his aroused image to my mind and forces the worst of the hurt from my memory. I wanted this, and I got it, and now listening to his deep and contented sleeping breath behind me, I can safely acknowledge I don’t regret it for a moment.

In his sleep he rolls from me and releases his possessive grip on my body, and as he does, I sit on the side of the bed and look back to him sleeping soundly on his back. He’s beautiful, and in the quietness of his room, I watch him. There is a slight part to his lips, and he breathes steadily. One of his hands rests under his head and the other is on his chest. I follow his body from there to his stomach and to his groin, which is now covered by the sheet. I don’t want to leave his bed, but I need the bathroom. And as I walk to the bathroom that adjoins his bedroom, pain courses through my groin. There’s no denying it was far more painful than I realized it would be, but it’s finally done.

Entering his bathroom, I take in my surroundings. It is immaculate, just like the rest of his home. It’s incredible. The bathtub is an amazing claw-foot. The floor is perfect white hexagonal tiles interspersed with three black tiles throughout. The walls are subway tiles, and the vanity is a custom piece that looks like furniture rather than cabinetry. It’s perfect. I look around appraising every inch of this room, wondering again if I’ll ever be fortunate enough to design something so incredible—not on the salary of a designer, for sure. Conceptually, I may be able to create such a design, but these materials alone would bankrupt me.