“It’s going to hurt, baby,” Harry’s voice tried to hush me, his other hand coming to caress my face, trying to soothe me. But that didn’t stop the pain—the pain was blinding me, immobilizing my lower half. I literally felt like he was cutting inside of me, burning me on the inside out.
It hurt—so much.
“But I have to do this,” His green eyes pulled away to stare in between my legs. My cheeks flushed at how closely he was staring at my most private part; I was waiting for him to grimace in disgust at the sight of me, but instead, I could see an approving gleam in his eye, and his lips twitched to the side in a half smirk in appreciation for what he saw. I didn’t know what he saw, but it looked like he saw something.
“Just take your fingers out,” I pleaded sharply, kicking out my legs, which was futile since they were strewn in the air on either side of Harry.
He ignored my protests and added another finger. His face was narrowed now in determination, and he was pumping inside of me faster and faster. I’ve read fanfics before—I have, and I wasn’t about to lie. I’ve read smut. And typically the girl, in situations like this, would feel the undeniable pain, but the author seemed to always write that the pain soon turned into pleasure.
So where was the pleasure?
Maybe I’m different. Maybe I’m just weird—but I sensed no pleasure in this. My core was throbbing uncontrollably, stretching against its will. I could no longer feel myself dripping wet or at all turned on—all I wanted was him and his probing fingers out of me.
My eyes stared hopefully at Harry, hoping to see him take pity on me. I was 17 years-old, a virgin who has only had a tampon up there, yet it looked like he was there to finish the job.
Bastard.
I hated him, I really did.
Did he not see how much this was hurting me?
“Fuck,” Harry grumbled as he craned his neck, locking my legs firmly around his waist and peering in between my legs again. He tilted his head, scrutinizing what his fingers were doing. He bit down on his lower lip and mumbled, “Fuck—you’re so tight, sweetheart. I want you so bad.”
Oh no.
Oh no no no no NO.
“Please don’t rape me,” I started protesting loudly, kicking my legs again. I could already feeling my skin stretching now around his scissoring fingers—I was probably twice as stretched than when Harry started fingering me. “Please don’t do that to me. Get off of me.” I said the last part in a feral growl, my eyes turning into a glare. I really wasn’t angry; I was desperate.
“I’m not going to rape you,” Harry chuckled at my words, and he moved back up towards me to press a chaste kiss to my lips. He pulled away, inches apart, to stare deeply into my eyes. “I want to help you explore your body, Charlotte. I want to be the one to take your innocence away—I want to taint you.” He paused before adding darkly, “I want to make you mine.”
Holy hell.
With that said, he pressed his lips to mine again, and his fingers started going faster and deeper. They were twisting and turning inside of me, pulling up against my slick walls, demanding entrance. My body was doing everything it could to push him away—but he was far too strong.
It was futile.
“And you are mine.”
He let out a quiet growl, declaring this with that predatory look in his eye as he used his other hand to tease my clitoris again. I could feel my hips shudder from the feeling of my jumbled nerves move again when he flicked my clitoris, and yes, my body did feel the smallest hint of pleasure mixed with the dictatorial force of Harry’s fingers probing inside of me.