Free Mentor (An Impossible Novella) by Julia Sykes Page B

broken, I realized.
    I didn’t care for the idea that I had pleased Him, but I didn’t want to be broken, either.  Ignoring the conflicting emotions that arose within me, I pressed on.
    “You’re lying.”  My declaration only slightly shook with my fear.  “You don’t want to do this to me.”
    “Oh, pet,” He laughed.  “You think I don’t want to keep you any longer?  Do you think I care about you?”
    His mocking words hit close to home, and I flinched.  I had hoped that his amusement with me, his pleasure at my resilience, was growing into a kind of twisted affection.
    “No.”  I clung to my determination, gathering the few vestiges of courage that remained within my soul.  “You need to do this to me.”
    His face went completely blank for the space of a moment.
    He blinked.
    When He looked down at me, there was respect and a hint of something akin to wonder in his eyes.  Something else flashed behind them.  Could it be pain?
    Then his frown returned, and his fingers flexed around my arm where He held me to his chest.
    “Very well, pet,” he allowed, his voice tight.  “I do need to do this to you.  But make no mistake,” his eyes burned down into mine, “I want to do this, too.  I enjoy torturing you.  And now, I finally get to take what I want.”
    It was far from a heartening response, but He suddenly showed more emotion than ever before.  It manifested in a new ferocity; the restraint He had exercised for so long was utterly gone.
    He shoved me back onto the bed.  To my surprise, He didn’t bind me with my cuffs as He usually did before He pleasured me.  He didn’t need them.  The strong grip of his hand around my wrists, pinning them above me, was more than enough to hold me in place for Him.
    His movements were frenzied, almost fumbling, as He reached into his pocket with his free hand.  I recognized the small item He held as a condom in the seconds it took him to free himself from his low-slung jeans and sheathe himself.
    Still fully clothed, He settled his body over mine and pressed at my entrance.  I was tight with lack of arousal.  He hadn’t taken the time to prepare me, and the slickness I needed to accommodate him was absent.
    For a moment, I feared He was going to shove in ruthlessly, but He reached between us with a growl, pinching and rubbing my clit until I began to relax.  When his fingers found the wetness between my labia, He grunted in satisfaction.
    The head of his cock pressed at me.  It was much wider than his two fingers, and I gasped.  Were all men so large?  His cock had to be at least nine inches long.  I tried to squirm away from Him, my body fearing the penetration.
    His feral snarl warned me to stillness.  He stroked my clit again, and I softened beneath Him.
    Slowly, He eased into me.  His breath puffed in and out in hard hisses through his teeth.  I was amazed to realize that He was restraining himself from slamming into me.  Did He care about not hurting me?  Or was this all about his control over himself?
    A second later, I decided I didn’t care.  He hit a barrier, and pain shot through my womb.
    My hymen.  
    “Hold on, pet,” he ground out.
    His hips thrust upward, destroying my virginity.  I screamed as it tore.
    He released his hold on my wrists to cup my face in both hands.  His forehead rested on mine, and the flames of his eyes threatened to burn right through me to scorch my soul.
    It’s his first time, too, I realized with a jolt.
    Without thinking, I reached up to run my fingers through his hair.  He leaned into my hand.  It was the first time I had ever touched Him of my own volition.
    “It’s okay, Master,” I heard myself reassuring him.  “I’m okay.”
    His groan was one of relief, and He began to move inside me once again.  Now that both of his hands were free, He was able to play with my breasts while He toyed with my clit.  He gave me the little flashes of pain that I was coming to love so much, and