HELLO! I'M NOT DEAD LMAO
Life was a bitch and kept me on my toes. I'll make it up to you guys with more updates this week. 6.5k words. Brace yourself lmao
Also thank you to everyone who's given both me and my Acquisition so much love, and made it my most read book so far❤️
════════════════
| 5 years ago |
I was a rarity.
In a world where losing a bloody phone was more scandalous than losing virginity, I was a rarity since I was a virgin. And by a virgin, I meant it in the purest form. The kind of virgin who never kissed a guy, never hugged a guy, never had a drink, never watched porn.
Thanks to my all-girls boarding school and an overprotective brother who had more skeletons in his closet than his age. It was for the sake of my silver-spoon family name's reputation that I had to keep up with the pretenses. I'd been raised like a proper lady.
Fuck being proper.
I was going to shag tonight. Who and where was not the question. Okay, maybe they were. Or why else would I be treasuring all my sexual firsts till my eighteenth birthday? All I wanted was a pleasant experience, but I had finally mustered up the courage to cross off my teenage bucket list.
A part of me was still surprised that my no-nonsense brother permitted me to throw a bash for my eighteenth birthday in Los Angeles — far away from my home — and a bigger part of me wanted to take advantage of this situation to get laid.
Taking a sip of my scotch whiskey — the only drink name I knew, thanks to my brother — I looked down at my phone screen to calm my nerves, trying to choose a good pickup line from a Reddit comments section.
Wanna play pokemon?
I'm a challenger in League of Legends.
Look at that boulder, nice boulder.
"They are so cringe!" whined my friend, Lucy, her forehead creasing in disapproval. Those wouldn't do even for an inexperienced virgin like me.
My thoughts swiveled into nothingness when a tall, blonde guy slid beside Lucy and ordered, "Hey, Jack, an Iron Butterfly."
Horror pooled in Lucy's eyes. "Butterfly in a drink!! Eww..."
"It's just the name, sweetheart," the handsome guy purred, shifting his attention to my friend. His eyes found mine, and he shot me a warm smile.
"Did I ask though?" Lucy raised a brow.
"I still have your attention, sweetheart." Judging by their proximity, his breath fanned the shell of her ear. Hell, I could practically sense his cologne smell.
A seductive smile danced on my friend's lips as she leaned forward and whispered something quirky in his ear. Pushing her chest softly against his bicep as her hand trailed on his thigh.
Heaving a sigh, I tamped down on the discontent in my chest. I was useless in this sex department; maybe I would die as a virgin.
"Can we take this to bed, Athena?" The blonde guy's low rumble made me even more envious of my friend's charm. Athena. She lied about her name because this was just a fling.
My eyes drifted to me and she smiled half encouragingly and half apologetically. "Not yet, Xayvion..."
They had already exchanged names? Could my life be any more ludicrous than it was? Huffing, I started scrolling through my phone mindlessly as I took another long sip of my drink, allowing myself to drown in the flavors of caramel, honey, and smoke.
No wonder my brother loved his Scotch Whisky.
A figure clad in dark clothes dropped two seats away from me, and the mere controlled way the stranger folded himself equally scared me and thrilled me. A peculiar mix of bergamot and birch enveloped me, seducing me to get a peek at the person beside me. My nerves buzzing with frenzy, I twisted my neck and gazed at him. The white shirt stretched taut over his broad frame, outlining his muscles as the V of his collar gave me a peek at his clear, firm skin.
Goosebumps erupted on my skin when he slid his gaze to mine. He was handsome, not in the boyish way Xayvion was, no, this was a masculine way. Too strong. Too courtly. Too wise.
And too experienced.
A zap arrowed down to the apex of my thighs as I wondered how my body would look so fragile under his powerful one. He had to be in his late twenties. And I was still a teenager. Bloody hell! This was so wrong. A grown man lusting after a minor is absurd. My brother would have his head on a platter dare the strange look my way.
But I wasn't a minor anymore. In a few hours, I would turn eighteen, and I wanted to get rid of my VCard, and I didn't want to lose it to a pedophile. So, I would lie about my age — if asked — while my body thoroughly attested to the same.
For a seventeen-year-old, I was strangely a five-feet nine-inches frame with proper curves. My black cocktail dress with a plunging neckline exposed a good amount of my cleavage, my legs, and my back while my blonde hair and my makeup were made in a way to add years to my age. This was one of those rare moments when I applauded my genetics for making me look older. So, there was no way anyone would even suspect my real age.
"Seems like you found your fish." Lucy grinned in my ear. "Go, seduce him."
I flushed. Seduction was such a dangerous game. It was a tightrope between confidence and embarrassment. A rope I didn't want to walk on. Throwing away my dignified mask and acting wild was out of the question, as was seduction.
"Wingman duty calls, Cyrus?" Jack, the bartender, queried as he smiled at the man beside me. My eyes drifted back to Lucy to find her already heading towards the exit with Xayvion, all set to be shagged.
Cyrus tilted his head. "That is Xayvion for all of us."
"Like always, you'll turn this wing woman down, too?" Jack grinned, pouring an amber liquid into a glass, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Why was this wanker talking about me?
"Yes."
Now, I was positively livid — rightfully so. What was wrong with me? I was perfectly normal. Yes, inexperienced, but I wasn't useless in the sex department. And why didn't Cyrus want me?
"Don't talk about me as if I'm not sitting right here." I snapped, gripping my glass harder.
They looked at me instantly. Cyrus' face was just expressionless. And Jack, seemingly realizing I wasn't a statue without a mouth or ears, arched a brow. "Your name?"
"Aphrodite,"
Another lie.
"Oh, where is your Hephaestus?" the bartender ridiculed me. And my eyes swung to Cyrus' hard, emotionless face.
He wasn't Hephaestus. He was achingly beautiful. Frustratingly strategic. Inexorably brutal. He was Ares.
"Ares," I echoed. "I'll find my Ares for tonight."
"I don't usually see you here. Are you here to celebrate something tonight?" The bartender asked, popping a cherry on the rim of the glass.
I gulped my Scotch Whisky and let it wash down my throat. "No, I'm not from here. I'm just celebrating my twenty-first birthday in celibacy tonight, unfortunately."
A laugh spilled from the bartender's throat, and I willed myself to not embarrass myself anymore. In fact, keeping quiet and acting all ladylike was better than getting pissed in a strange club.
"What do you do, Aphrodite?" A masculine voice danced in my ears, the clarity in it startling. The voice was achingly perfect, yet orderly hollow.
My eyes drifted to Cyrus to find his scrutiny singular on me. Tamping down the frenzy in my stomach, I answered nonchalantly. "I'm a photographer. I represent a few galleries in France, New York, and London."
Lies. They were all lies. I was still an amateur at photography, but a talented amateur who aspired to represent galleries all over the globe one day.
"Did you work for a magazine before?" He fired another question in that same toneless voice.
"Of course, I have worked for Aperture, Shutter, and PhotoLife," I answered him, feeling pride flare inside me. At least, now, I wasn't lying.
My eyes tracked the motion of his hand as he pulled a card out of his hand and placed it on the counter. Curious as I was, I reached for that card in a movement as graceful as I could. Zaps traveled through the mere contact when his fingers brushed mine. "Here is my card. I hope we can close a deal."
Bloody hell! I only wanted sex, not do business with him.
"Or you can take me out of here," I whispered in a low voice and his eyes slid to my neck and further down to my cleavage before he tore them in the next second. Disappointment and confusion coursed through me.
I had been praised for my looks for as long as I could remember. Then why was Cyrus not attracted to me?
"Why will I?" He arched his brow, looking as smug as possible with his stony features. Hope soared through me. He was just playing hard. That's it! Time to play.
"Because you're into this just as much as I am." My voice dropped a little.
His chuckle caressed my bones. "Are you vegan?"
Surprised, I blinked my eyes. "No."
"Jack, a chicken burger for the lady."
"I'm not hungry," I blurted out.
He shrugged. "Nor sober."
"I am. I just had three drinks."
"Drunk enough to make mistakes, Aphrodite." Jack placed a burger on the counter and Cyrus added, "Eat up. And then make a consensual decision."
Consensual.
He didn't want to take advantage of a drunk woman; he wanted my consent. If he knew my age, I was very sure he wouldn't touch me.
Wordlessly, I ate the burger gracefully, like I had been taught, aware of his watchful eyes on me.
Ten minutes later, I found myself on the seventh floor in the same building, heading to a lobby with Cyrus. Goosebumps erupted on my skin and my nerves felt jittery because of the hand Cyrus splayed on my back, on the skin-to-skin contact.
"I don't normally do this," I whispered, suddenly feeling the urge to let him know that I was...
My thoughts dissipated when his lips pressed against mine, and his body crushed to mine. Clutching his collar, I let him play with me as he pleased. His lips brushed back and forth against mine in languid, unhurried strokes, each touch making me desperate for more.
At that moment, the world around me ceased to exist. My nerve endings exploded with sensations and my heart thundered in my chest. It felt as if he breathed air into my lungs, conquering me, ravishing me, and possessing me. And I just clung to him. All my hesitation, my longing, my nervousness sieved into nothingness as he drowned me in sheer depravity of giving a man my control.
He seemed to cognize my yearning because his tongue stroked my lower lip languorously, his command unsaid but not unheard. Open.
So I did, descending into submission. His hand angled my jaw before he deepened the kiss. His tongue stroked mine gently and his other hand snaked down to the curve of my waist, unfurling something deep inside me.
Something fervent.
Something fruitive.
Something feminine which made me shamelessly famished for him. And I smiled into the kiss, wondering how a moment so small felt like it could last forever, knowing how the moment I'd waited for all my life would be treasured until the end of me.
His teeth nipped at my bottom lip with precise calculation, and I gave up my last threads of control. A moan spilled from my lips when his tongue coiled with mine. And my heart fluttered from wonder. So, I tunneled my fingers into his raven hair and pulled him closer to me.
The heat from his muscle-bound torso soaked into my soft curves. His hardness nuzzled at the apex of my thighs and sensations arrowed down to my core. My nerves buzzed with anticipation and my pussy pulsed with a second beat.
His fingers trailed on my bareback before he found the zipper on my dress, and my nipples hardened.
Cyrus's voice sent a chill down my spine. "You down for this?"
Consent. He wanted my consent. He wouldn't do this if he knew my age. But then again, in some parts of the world, I was already eighteen — an adult to make my decision.
"Yes." The word rushed out of me in a breathy whisper.
His fingers yanked the zip down, and the dress slid down my arms in a silky caress, exposing my hard nipples to Cyrus's gaze. A rush of wetness coated my folds as heat flared towards my neck and face, a red hue suffusing my pale skin. No matter how much I tried to act confident, I couldn't. This was new to me.
Cyrus splayed a hand on my arse and lifted me in the air in an agile move, drawing a surprised squeak from me. Bracketing his waist, I wrapped my legs around him and he pressed his hardness onto my sensitive clit through the layers of clothing.
Then, for the first time, a masculine hand touched my breasts and sensations tickled me on the inside. He slid his hand on the side of my breast, then on the underside, and then his thumb found my nipple before he rubbed it teasingly, evoking a gasp from me. Then he trapped my body against him and the wall with his hips before his other hand snaked up to my other breast.
His fingers — long, dextrose, masculine — splayed around to cup my breasts while his thumbs slowly drew circles on my hard nipples. Round, round, and round.
I shuddered against the wall from the sensations.
His fingers kneaded my breasts as his thumbs kept moving on my aching nipples, hardening them more and more. Tilting his head, he slid his lips on the slender column of my neck and I bit my lip to trap my sounds and closed my eyes, just feeling, relishing, and memorizing every calculated stroke. Every gentle squeeze. Every dominant move.
He then bracketed my nipples between his thumbs and the side of each forefinger. He squeezed gently, and a shudder skittered down my spine. Sensations traveled to my pussy, heat lapped at my wet folds, and a moan vibrated against my mouth.
He squeezed my nipples between his thumb and fingertip, pulling harshly, and my mouth fell open as my back arched, pressing my sensitive clit into his hardness. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, needing to catch onto something as he wreaked havoc on my breasts.
"Ahh..." A moan of desperation filled the room as my breasts heaved against his skillful masculine fingers.
Cyrus didn't falter; he squeezed hard, pinched, tugged on my nipples, testing my limits, sending a wave of sensations through my nerve endings. His cock rubbed my clit through the soft barrier, creating delicious, delicious friction, and I cried out, feeling my walls clench and unclench with a peculiar hunger.
I rocked my hips against him, creating more friction and heat as he alternated between pressing my nipples into my breasts and then tugging them out, both hands moving in tandem with the pulse of my roaring blood in my body. My hands shuddered against his well-built shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt in a painful grip. I gasped sporadically as my eyes clenched shut.
Behind my closed lids, lust, depravity, and thrill formed a dark haze around me like I was sprinting into a dark unknown, reluctant to give up the control that was conditioned into me all my life.
Somehow, Cyrus found his control, discipline, and serenity while maintaining slow, steady, careful teasing on my clit and rough, harsh, persistent torture on my nipples. He was quiet while I was on the verge of crying.
Bolts of electricity coursed through every inch of my body. Heart hammering in my chest, I felt exertion in my body as though I'd been running — running from something deviant and rubbing into something depraved. Time stopped having any meaning. Cyrus' scent closed upon my senses with a tangible power while he rubbed and teased my clit, wrenching out the feminine part of me.
With the burn of shame scorching my insides, I felt my legs trip before I was falling into a dark abyss, giving up all the remnants of my resistance as pleasure lapped at me. I gasped, throwing my head back as my pleasure gushed through me in waves. "Ahh.."
I stopped moving in disbelief. I orgasmed?!
"Blimey! Did you..." My words faltered as a blush crept up to my cheeks. I had heard of men who couldn't navigate the clitoris and I had heard of men who weren't patient enough for role play. So, I didn't have any expectations. However, Cyrus knocked my socks off, looking so unruffled after wrenching an orgasm out of me.
Maybe he expects me to suck him.
Mustering up all my courage, I let my hands fumble with the belt of his pants hurriedly as I mumbled, "time to.. er.. return the favor."
"I set the pace, Aphrodite," he commanded, gripping my wrist, and I froze, wondering if I did something wrong.
Before I could formulate any rational thought, he cupped my pussy through my drenched panties. Denying his dominance, I shook my head. "No, I will..."
He watched me with his dark eyes as his thumb made an up and down motion over my clit. Sensations zapped through me and I rocked my hips, trying to give him better access to my needy spot, which he was meticulously evading. "There.." I whispered as he dug his fingertip into my aroused nub, applying pressure that sent arousal through my pussy.
"Where, Aphrodite?" His tone sounded almost amused as he amplified his torture on my clit, rubbing it in circles.
"Ahh," I moaned, wanting more. If his fingertip could drive me to the edge, what magic would his fingers do inside me? I wasn't going to miss that. Squelching the pride clawing at my guts, I pleaded, "please!"
I could do this; I had read so many erotic books and I knew how to provoke a man.
"You win. You set the pace. Take me please," I cried out, legs trembling from the sensations. His long and warm fingers pushed my panties aside before he slipped his finger into me, and heat blazed through me.
More wetness leaked through my slit as my walls ripped against his finger, coating it with my juices. Tingles spawned throughout my body and my breath coiled in my throat when Cyrus grabbed my clit between his thumb and my forefinger. He pressed, and a moan escaped my lips as pain pulsed through my pussy, and then twisted roughly, driving me over to the edge.
"Ahh..."
"And you'll obey me. Won't you?" His composed voice wafted through my ears. Gently massaging my clit, he brushed his thumb ever so lightly back and forth over the top, back and forth. My legs turned jello, and pinpricks of pain lanced through my limbs as though I had been running all along even if my body had been pinned to the wall by Cyrus's — strong, impersonal, masculine — frame. My back arched in violation and my hips rocked. My pussy wept, begging for the rhapsodic pleasure he callously denied.
"Mmm," I moaned as he pressed my clit harder and inserted a second finger into my pussy, sending vibrations through my body. My womb clenched at the visceral feel of his fingers filling me. He stroked my pulsing walls, curling his fingers inside me oh so dexterously. Then he angled his fingers, hitting the spot deep inside me.
"Fuck!" I cursed, grabbing his suit in my fist, needing to catch something to regain my shreds of control, and he pulled his hand away as my orgasm grew.
"Such foul language, Aphrodite." His amused chastisement sent a chill down my spine. "Where are your manners?"
"Left them back at home." I ground through clenched teeth before it dawned on me how depraved I was. Being fingered in a hotel room by a stranger — who refused to undress while my breasts and my cunt were shamelessly exposed — surely put all my proper lady conditioning to shame. A blush crept up to my cheeks upon finding Cyrus staring into my eyes. "Is there something on my face?"
"All that ladylike behavior back in the club was a facade, Aphrodite." His emotionless voice echoed in tandem with the blood pounding in my ears. "Wild. You're so wild."
Bloody hell! I wasn't wild. This was just a fuck. Just a moment. Just a night. Tomorrow, I would go back to my home, to my life where I would behave like a proper lady. However, that didn't make me wild. Cyrus probably used these same words for every fling.
"Can't handle me?" I cocked a brow.
He stabbed three fingers back inside my pussy without a preamble, stretching my lips to accommodate his fingers, and my eyes shut from the pain. His fingers rolled inside my pussy, back and forth, around and around. "Ahh, Cyrus..."
"There, I'm doing a perfect job at handling you." His fingers stroked every inch inside me. The blood rushing to my pussy impaired my brain, and I started to thrust my hips against his hand. He stroked the spot deep inside me, leaving me pulsing, aching, and quivering.
Suddenly, I was falling back into the endless abyss like before as Cyrus's scent, touch, and warmth closed in on me, capturing me. My orgasm rolled over me in waves, rocking me backward and pulling me forward in time. Clasping his shirt, I came down on his fingers, milking every inch of his skin with my juices as little aftershocks shot through my womb.
Cyrus' command interspersed the exhilarating haze in my head. "Strip, Aphrodite."
His voice — oh, that achingly flawless voice — propelled me into motion. Gripping the strips in my hands, I pulled them over my head at once before dragging my panties down my legs and tossing them away.
"Bed. Now."
Something about his voice twisted a docile part inside me. Something so primal, raw, and demanding that I had no defense against it. Something that shattered my archival armor to mere shreds.
By the time I perched down on the mattress, I was vehemently aware of my nudity and Cyrus' rather clothed self. Humiliation was once again a monster chasing me in unfamiliar depths. Goosebumps coated my skin, my nipples pebbled, my breaths turned low, and my flesh burned with shame. More wetness coated my folds, and I realized how exhilarating giving up my control felt.
My eyes tracked the motion of Cyrus' hands as he unbuttoned the cufflinks and then his shirt before pushing it down his strong shoulders. Entranced by his well-built physique, I committed his tight abs and big biceps to my memory. His shoulders were broad, and he looked strong as hell — and that was saying something from someone who had been taught boxing. Heat unflared in my stomach as I wondered how his taut skin would feel under my delicate fingers.
His fingers then reached down to untie his shoes and take off his socks in a meticulous move, which reminded me of how mushy his fingers inside me made me feel. Launching to his feet, he unbuckled his belt before sliding it through the loops until it came loose from his pants. He dropped it on the chair. Seemingly unbothered by my perusal, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Hooking his fingers in the waistband, he pulled them down over his hips and lower to his knees, revealing the bulge in his boxers.
A zap of apprehension bolted through me as I imagined his grit stretching my walls and his length, tearing my hymen as he powered through me. He would splinter me apart with that hardness and paint the sheets bloody red. Oh, hell nah! This was supposed to be painless and pleasurable, not like pulling back a tampon from my bleeding cunt.
The ripping sound of something vaporized my thoughts, and I watched him roll the latex down his length with glistening fingers. Fingers that were inside me. Fingers that wrenched an orgasm out of me. Fingers that stroked me sinfully. An arrow of pleasure transversed through me, and my walls pulsed with a throb that only Cyrus could abate. The scent of my own arousal prickled my nose and my nipples hardened with anticipation.
Clenching my legs shut, I noted Cyrus approaching me with sinful confidence that made my cheeks flush. "Missionary," I whispered, wishing to take back any seams of control. "I prefer missionary."
"Are you a virgin?" His question was utterly toneless.
"No," I lied again, feeling guilty for lying so many times in a row. "What if my preference is because of trauma?"
Another lie. I'd no trauma whatsoever. I was going straight to hell for all the lies.
Something akin to sympathy rounded his dark eyes before he scooted down between my legs and pushed them open wide without waiting for an acknowledgment. A blush rode my pale skin as I reached out for his neck to kiss him, my hand moving from his neck to his slightly taut shoulders.
Gliding my fingers cautiously on his body, I kissed Cyrus gently, our lips barely touching as I relished in the lingering tension. His hardness throbbed against my stomach and the tension anomalously grew into something more fierce. Something consuming, conquering, and capitulating while making my womb feel hollow and fluttery at the same time.
Cyrus' hand gripped my thigh before he wrapped my leg over his hip, and his fisted hands sunk into the mattress, caging me. Painfully stretching out my neck, I angled my body to reach for his lips, suddenly feeling like I'd die if I couldn't just get another taste of his devouring lips.
Denying my silent request, he slid his lips down my neck, while I just breathed over the crook of his neck, eyes closed, wondering if this was how Cyrus would make love. This was definitely not the man who tortured my breasts and my clit. This man was blending his planes with my curves, caressing my body. My breasts. My hips.
Sensations spanned through my body and I felt myself wanting this more. This stupid, basic sex position more and more, just so I could feel his hardness against my stomach and my nipples rubbing against his chest. His fingers slid along my cleavage so naturally, as if enjoying the softness of my delicate skin, the stark contrast of my soft breasts and my rock-hard nipples.
A gasp left me when he lined up his throbbing cock with my glistening folds, demanding a lot more than I was giving him right now, holding my hips with both hands, and he locked eyes with mine. The lust in the air was infused with Cyrus' rich scent and drowned me in it. His grip on my hips tightened a split second before he thrust inside with a brutal force I couldn't withstand.
My muscles shrieked and a strange burn flared through my channel as I practically felt my hymen ripped all at once. Tears sprung to my eyes as I swallowed the scream, which nearly escaped my lips at the intrusion. Breathing through my mouth, I waited for my body to adjust to his grit and length, both so foreign and brutal.
Cyrus stilled, the anger in his voice undeniable. "You are a virgin."
Unable to abate the pain and swallow the tears, I wrapped my hands harder around him and dug my teeth into his shoulder to muffle my scream, regretting lying to him. A sigh echoed in my ears before he nuzzled his nose on the column of my neck, his hands on my hips now drawing soft circles to settle me down while the heat from his skin seeped into me. Into my bones. Into every being of me.
He held me in his hands with the softness and comfort of a blanket on a chilly winter night. Like every first with Cyrus, this was a memorable experience all on its own. It was as if the time slowed; the moment lasted as I was acutely aware of the thin layer of latex separating us. Aware of his head buried deep inside me. Aware of being a single flesh at that moment. Cyrus' composed breaths against my ear seduced my feminine feelings that I kept locked in a vault. Feeling of being filled to the brink. Feeling of wanting someone and being wanted by them. Feeling of experiencing something akin to love.
As the pain abated, I pressed my hips firmly against his, rubbing my clit against his abdomen, wanting some friction — any friction. Cyrus stilled impossibly more at that move, the rigid lines of his body declaring only one thing — his anger. Embarrassment poured over me and I hoped somehow I would just vanish, not knowing how I could face his anger for a second longer.
"I..." My hand trembled against his bicep in nervousness.
"Lied." He reminded me. "You lied."
Well, time to charm him.
A blush crept up to my neck. "Wasn't aware my hymen made your cock immobile."
"I'll leave your legs immobile for the rest of the week if I start moving like I initially wanted to," he warned me as I rotated my hips in slow and languid strokes.
"Oh joy, sounds like the best birthday gift." A laugh spilled from my lips, and like every other person, Cyrus seemingly relaxed. It was a trick I'd mastered to ease tension; make an inappropriate joke and laugh like nothing was wrong.
He asked in a tone that still didn't betray his anger. "What kind of horrendous gifts did you get all these years?"
"Pillows, teddy bears, and stuff like that..." I trailed my fingertips on his shoulders, committing this moment to my memory, feeling his heart pounding against my chest.
His hand trailed in between us to my clit and he started drawing patterns, giving it the attention I needed. "Quite outrageous, I assume."
"Outrageous, indeed. Bloody pillows and teddy bears didn't succeed in giving me orgasms as your fingers did," I admitted, feeling so utterly shameless, and pursed my lips to keep the laughter trapped inside me because of the hopeless look on Cyrus' face.
He craned his neck to look me in the eye. "What a shameless wild thing you are, Aphrodite."
A wave of wetness infused into my pussy, coating my walls, and I realized I would orgasm just like that if he continued to call me wild, naughty, and shameless while playing with my clit.
"Point is: it is my birthday and I want orgasms... ahh! Fuck!" A moan left my throat when Cyrus increased his pace of rubbing circles on my clit.
"Only if you stop cursing." He shot me a stern look and started moving — slow and deliberate thrusts to get me used to this.
He increased his speed, his movements being inherently organic while my arms wound tighter around his body and he supported his weight on a single hand. His other hand was still arousing my clit.
"Ahh, shit!"
"Stop cursing before I'm forced to gag you, Aphrodite." He shot me a dark look. A look that equally thrilled me and scared me. Maybe sometime later, I should curse just to provoke him to gag me.
Brilliant! I really am wild. Cyrus wasn't joking when he called me that.
He removed his hand from my clit and caught my hip with it, digging his fingertips into my flesh, grazing on my neck softly. The sensation of him hitting my cervix caused my back to arch and my walls clenched and unclenched around him. I felt myself reaching another orgasm.
And just then, a phone started ringing in the background. To my distress, it was my phone, and I shot Cyrus an awkward smile. "It is probably my friends calling to wish me."
Slamming his fists on either side of my head into the bed, he demanded, his jaw working, "Turn it off."
Tamping down on my urge to laugh at his annoyance, I let my hand dart forward to my phone on the nightstand. Picking it up, I attempted to trail my thumb on the decline button before accidentally hitting the answer button.
"Well-behaved women rarely make history. So, this year, let's go even crazier. Happy seventeenth birthday! Stay golden, goldie!" The voice practically yelled from the other end. And I meant yelling because I was sure Cyrus actually heard it.
My insides froze. This bitch didn't just say seventeenth birthday.
Cyrus pulled all the way out of me even before I declined the call. Still, he hovered over me, his shoulders rigid and his expression livid.
A shriek left my lips when his hand gripped my neck in a steel grip, his eyes dark. He bellowed, "You fucking lied!"
Placing the phone on my nightstand, I told him the truth. "I did. But I'm not seventeen, I swear."
"How pathetic are you?" Fury underlined the angles of his jaw, of his barely controlled breath, of his sharp demeanor. "Couldn't you find a boy of your age? Why would you lie about your age?"
What surprised me was my instincts failing. I was a boxer; I knew self-defense. Hell, I was damn good at it — enough to kill someone from a mere blow. Then why didn't my body fight and trust Cyrus to not harm me was a mystery.
"I lied, but I'm not seventeen. It's my eighteen birthday. It's not as bad as..."
My voice faltered when he tightened his grip, confiscating my airflow, as he ground out, voice still rough, still out of his element, still harsh. "If all you wanted was a fuck from a perverted old man, why didn't you go to a fucking porn studio?"
A slap reverberated in the room, silencing Cyrus' verbal assault, as my fingers vibrated with resentment. His hand let go of my neck and he slid down the bed.
Biting on my lower lip, I twisted my face away from him, hating myself for this chagrin. Tears gushed out of my eyelids as I fisted the blanket underneath in my hands to stop myself from doing more damage to his face.
Somewhere, a logical part of me reminded me how I provoked this ugly side of him and deserved this verbal assault. I did not just lie again and again, but I had made him question his morals. Cyrus wanted my consent. He asked it verbally and non-verbally, but of course, my being seventeen made my consent null and void, making him look like a predator when he was far from it. If I hadn't lied about my age, he wouldn't have looked my way. He certainly wouldn't have taken me up on my suggestions. He certainly wouldn't have had to regret this night. He would have ignored me like he ignored every other 'wing woman' before me.
I understood why he was losing his cool, but being compared to a porn star by a man who took my first kiss was too callous. Callous enough to send tears to my eyes. And I never cried.
Now I understood why my brother kept me away from the entire male population. He sheltered me too much, to protect my dignity and to prevent heartbreak. Of course, I had to be a wanker and make a laughingstock of myself tonight.
My train of thoughts was interrupted when a ringtone went in the air and I found Cyrus — now fully dressed — exiting the room. As I attempted to climb down the bed, pain shot through my pussy, and a wince spilled from my lips as my eyes drifted to the blood-coated sheets.
What a fucked up way to lose one's virginity.
As though hearing my sound of pain, Cyrus whirled around. His eyes did a scan of my teary eyes, of my trembling jaw, and then the blood on the sheets before his jaw worked. He discarded his suit jacket and strode back to the connected bathroom of the hotel room.
Ignoring him, I pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my figure, needing to cover myself. Then I rummaged through my clutch for any tissues, only to find none. Gazing at the sheets, I breathed through my nose, wishing my pain waned. The same pain I wasn't aware of when I had been sparring with Cyrus. The same pain I wasn't aware of when his body was against me. The same pain I wasn't aware of even when I was being verbally assaulted by him. But now, I was painfully aware of this.
And I needed to lick my wounds before I went back home and started behaving like a proper lady.
The door to the bathroom opened and Cyrus marched out of it towards my bed, his eyes still not meeting mine. His shoulders were still coiled with rage and his strides composed as always. My hands clenched, my defense mechanism kicking in when Cyrus leaned over and hoisted me — sheets and all — up in his arms and I looped my hand around his neck, bewildered, as he led me towards the bathroom.
My lips parted when I took in the steam flowing out of the large bathtub. Wordlessly, Cyrus dropped me in it gently and handed me a washcloth. Biting on my lower lip, I kept the groan of relief from leaving my mouth when the warm water enveloped me, sending intense comfort to my sore legs. Cyrus produced a first aid kit from the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of painkillers, and placed them on the counter.
"Should you need anything, give the reception a call. The staff will soon be here with a pair of new clothes so you can change into them." His words were still threaded with rage.
He hated me; I had no doubt. He had all my firsts yet proceeded to compare me to a porn star because he hated me for my lies. He hadn't even spoken anything about it, not even looked at me like I mattered. Yet, there was the evidence of his kindness that was so at odds with his hatred for me. If he could be this caring towards a stranger whom he hated, how would treat his woman? His woman would be a damn fortunate one. And I didn't want him to remember me only as a pathetic liar.
My voice trembled. "Cyrus,"
He looked at me over his shoulder.
"I swear, I'm not seventeen." I was eighteen — a woman who could make decisions for herself. A woman who went after a man who actively sought my consent before touching me. "And you are not a sexual predator."
A muscle in his jaw worked. "Still doesn't make any of this right."
"I'm not Aphrodite," I admitted, needing to give him at least my real name.
"I don't care."
Just like that, he was gone, trading so effortlessly and confidently, never bothering to know my name.
════════════════
I usually avoid writing virginity smut because they are so boring lmao but the story needs this.
Do you think Cyrus has a right to be mad?
Please don't forget to vote and comment.