"You all right?"
"Yeah. Just... big."
"I know. We'll take it easy."
He eased in incrementally, giving me time to adjust. The burn faded to fullness, to pressure, to something that wasn't quite pleasure yet but wasn't pain either. In all those romance novels I'd read, the heroines always described this moment as transcendent or earth-shattering. Right now it just felt... full. Strange and intimate and almost too much.
"All the way," he said when he was fully seated. His voice was strained, his forehead pressed to mine. "You did so well. Feel so damn good."
He held still, letting me adjust, pressing kisses to my neck, my jaw, my lips. Gradually, the overwhelming fullness shifted. The discomfort eased.
"You can move," I whispered.
He did, careful at first, watching my face for any sign of pain. Each thrust sent new sensations through me, and I met his rhythm, learning the dance.
"There you go." His voice was strained. "You feel incredible."
One of his hands slipped between us, finding my clit, and suddenly everything intensified. The friction inside, the pressure outside, the weight of him over me, the heat in his eyes.
"I want you to come again," he said. "Come with me inside you."
He kept the rhythm steady, his fingers working magic, and I climbed higher. More intense this time, every nerve alive.
"Shep—"
"I know. Let go. I've got you."
The second orgasm ripped through me. I clenched around him, pulse after pulse of pleasure, and he groaned.
"Fuck, Flannery—" His rhythm turned erratic, desperate. "I'm gonna—"
He drove in deep, his whole body going rigid. I felt him pulse inside me, throbbing with his release, and he made a sound I'd never heard before—raw and desperate and my name mixed with curses.
"Jesus, Flannery—fuck—" His hips jerked with the aftershocks, and he buried his face in my neck, breathing hard.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, both trembling.
"You all right?" he asked finally, his voice rough.
"Better than all right." I laughed, giddy and amazed. "That was..."
"Yeah." He kissed me. "It really was."
He withdrew carefully, and I winced at the sensitivity. He disposed of the condom, then gathered me close.
"Any regrets?" he asked.
"None." I looked up at him. "You?"
"Only that we didn't do this sooner." His hand stroked my back. "Though I'm glad your first time was with me."
"Me too."
We stood there for a moment, wrapped around each other, the storm still raging outside. I felt changed. Not just because I'd had sex, but because of who I'd had it with. Because of how he'd made me feel—safe, wanted, beautiful.
Part of me wanted to curl up in his arms and just exist in this moment. But another part—a bolder part I didn't know I had—was curious about everything else I'd never tried.
"You know," I said, pulling back slightly, "I get an employee discount on everything in the shop."
