"Are you really not interested in boys? Have you not been fucked before?"
The way the word left his lips made her shudder. Orgasm was so close that the utterance alone near pushed her over its edge. The kind man she'd known as a child had changed. Now his interest was in her body, and taking advantage of her. Emily was eager to give him everything he wanted.
"Never," she whispered. "I'm a good girl. I think about my grades and my future, not boys. And certainly not grown men."
"Of course you don't," Henry murmured.
His palms braced themselves on the mattress to either side of her head, and he lowered his face until their noses nearly brushed. Emily could smell him — aftershave and clove. The smell was not unpleasant, nor was it overpowering, but it was distinctly masculine and distinctly mature. No boy smelled like this, only a man could.
"Just like you didn't lift that tiny dress of yours up to give your perverted family friend a view of that tight little body of yours. You're too good of a girl for that."
The side of his nose brushed down the side of hers, and Emily closed her eyes. Henry's lips hovered above hers, just slightly brushing. The breath was caught in her throat, and although her lungs screamed for air, she could not breathe. It felt like if she stirred the moment would disappear or that she would wake up from his dream. But the man that was on top of her was no figment of her imagination. Henry was real, and he was there for one purpose and one purpose only.
"I'm a very good girl," she whispered against his lips. They were hard and a little dry, so different from her plump, youthful pinks. "I always do what I'm told, and daddy told me never to settle for boys."
"And what about men?"
But there was no time for her to reply. Henry's lips were upon hers, hungry. A gasp died in the back of Emily's throat in response to his voracious appetite — the passion was bruising, and their teeth clacked together as he laid claims on her mouth. The short bristles along his chin and jaw brushed against her, coarse and unmistakable. Emily had never even kissed a man before, but now that she'd started, she knew she never wanted to stop.
One of Henry's hands, fingers calloused from time and travel, ran through her hair and clenched down to hold her in place. There would be no escape. As they kissed, his other hand lowered the blankets from her body, and knee by knee he allowed them to pass beneath him until they only covered her calves. Emily kicked them the rest of the way off, the cool air of her room even colder after so long spent touching herself beneath the blankets. Goosebumps raised across her skin.
The kiss broke, and Henry's hand hardened its grip on her hair, holding her head firmly in place.
