The Slow Burn

I wasn't scared. I knew it's hurt for a bit but I didn't care, I was wild at this point. Gasping, sobbing, I remember my hands clenching his comforter. He murmured words into the dark, some in English and some in Spanish. I felt so good apparently, my pussy was so tight. He repeated how wet and hot I was as he made shallow thrusts. I tried desperately to upset his rhythm with my unpracticed hip thrusts. His hands gripped me too well though, controlling everything. I remember screaming something crude, yelling at him tofuck me. If I had seen his face, I would have probably seen his control snap. He pushed his dick into me in a single thrust and effectively broke my hymen.

It had hurt, a sting of a hurt. I cried out in response but didn't care. No I was beyond caring; I just finally had something in me, completing me. I was full of him, of this man with the beautiful lips and Spanish phrases and psychology degrees. How in love I was hurt my heart. As he moved his hips slowly out of my sheath and then slowly back in, nothing hurt any longer. The tear in my hymen could not lessen my desire in the least. I was going to come soon.

So was he - his movements were slow but costing him. I could tell by the clenching pattern of his hands on my hips. That was all there was anymore. He pushed into me and pulled out - it was as basic as that. Wet thrusts filled the air, along with our mutual moans. He readjusted the angle of his cock and pushed harder. It scraped some part of me that unleashed the flood gates. I came with his name on my lips, screaming into the comforter again and again as he thrust and thrust and thrust against that spot. I didn't stop coming for a while, it felt like eternity. His movements had become erratic; his hands left my hips to grab my breasts to haul me towards him. He pushed even harder now, reaching deeper than before. His hard cock kept bumping something inside of my lightly and It hurt, but my orgasm had dulled any other sensation significantly. He climaxed with a beautiful shutter that claimed his body. He growled as he did such, once again murmuring his Spanish harshly into the air.

He slumped against my body, his chest slick with sweat as my back was. He pulled out slowly, gently. He kissed my shoulder blade, the one he had bit not 5 minutes before. His weight was welcome; it solidified me after the liquid heat had coursed through my veins at such speed. I lay there, listening to my panting and his intermingle. I wanted to say I love you, to whisper it into the night, but I didn't feel appropriate.

After I had gotten home, the mess all cleaned up - the blood from my thighs on some used towel, my ripped panties in the trash, my heart once again calm and my blood still - I lay on my bed, missing him already. He said I could stay the night, I said my roommate would worry. He smiled sweetly and my heart did somersaults in my chest. He had kissed my lips when he dropped me off, and told me he hoped it had been what I was looking for. I reassured him it was perfect. It had been.

What I remember clearly however, was him watching me put my clothes back on, his eyes lingering on the hickeys under my left breast. Little did he know, he had marked more than just the skin above my heart, he had marked it itself.