Page 116 of The Strength Of A Woman

I’m hardly in, yet I still feel the pulsing of her center.

“Talk to me, baby. How many people have you done this with?”

I grab her ass, and I knead her tits.

I run the tip of my tongue up her neck before I softly bite the skin below her ear.

She’s still quiet when I come to her and kiss her lips. Part her lips. Push my tongue into her mouth.

She must not have noticed that I also pushed a couple of inches in, yet her body has, jerking against me.

I hold her still.

“How many?” I ask against her mouth.

“Enough,” she lies, and I laugh against her hair, liking to tease her.

She’s mad that I don’t believe her.

How could I?

She’s stiff as if made of steel. Tense and frightened. I might be in for a big surprise.

Good thing that I’ve never bet against Leilani Gallonotbeing a virgin. I would’ve lost my shirt.

I still can’t believe that this might actually be true.

That despite all the men who had lurked in that house, liked to play sex games with her and spank her ass, made her take her clothes off to humiliate her, intimidate her, and scar her for life. And also, all the opportunities she has had to sleep with some random man, she somehow miraculously remained untouched.

She surely didn’t look like a virgin that night when she rubbed herself against Maclean’s crotch.

Or when she took her clothes off so I could see her tempting body.

When she came around my fingers last night, although she’s been doing that bit for a while on her own.

But now that I’m about to connect with her in the most profound way known to man, she has lost her poise, and she is waiting for me to do it like I’m a death sentence.

“You don’t believe me?” she probes.

“How can I not believe you?” I reply, amused.

I lick my way up her neck, leaving open mouth kisses on her skin, playing with her hair, stroking her tits, pinching a nipple and making her cry in pain.

My hard-on throbs with pleasure as she sheaths me in her wet arousal, her core clenching softly.

I move deeper, and she quickly squeezes her thighs, crying in pain.

I lift my head and wait for her to open her eyes and look at me.

“How many, baby?” I ask quietly, already feeling the trickle of blood dripping over my hard flesh.

She looks at me with fear in her eyes, wincing in pain, still, when I lower my hand between us, sweep two fingers over her entrance, and lift them so she can see them.

The blood. Her blood. Dripping from my hand.

“It hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” I ask with a smile.

She nods without a word as she usually does when she’s overwhelmed and hides into herself.