[That honest shock in Hector's voice - the sense that he's unbalanced him, even slightly - prompts a shift in his black mood and he offers a slow, crooked smile, a glint of teeth.]

Perhaps 'twas wrong of me to think you a sweet, tender flower, a trembling virgin on the nuptial bed. ...But I did have you prepared, out of the kindness of my heart. [Letting out a loose, throaty chuckle at his own choice of words.] And your cunt was most willing to receive.

[He hums low in his throat, a sound both contemplative and appreciative, as he lets his eyes slip shut, wanting to hold onto the sense-memory of skin rasping skin and his hot, gritty tightness; the taste of forbidden fruit. The back of his neck prickles and his fingers itch, restless for something to do.]

...Was I your first?

[He asks after a while, slanting him a sideways, half-lidded look. The first to push inside, is what he means.]