He's trimmed but not bare, the dark hair at the base trailing up toward his navel in a neat, masculine line. And he's so fucking hard, it looks like he's about to burst out of his own skin.
My jaw drops, and I feel my cheeks flush—not just with embarrassment but with a raw, hungry awe. I can't help but stare.
It's mesmerizing, the way the veins stand out, the way the head seems to pulse with every beat of my own heart.
I want to touch it, taste it, feel the heat of it against my lips, but for a second all I can do is gawk like an idiot.
Zach catches the look on my face and grins, that goddamn cocky smile that makes me want to punch him and then jump his bones.
"Like what you see?" he asks, voice low and smug.
My mouth moves but nothing comes out.
I just nod, eyes flickering up to meet his before dropping back down to his cock. It twitches under my gaze, a fat bead of precum welling at the tip and threatening to drip down the shaft. I have an almost overwhelming urge to lick it off, to taste the salt and heat, to wrap my fist around him and feel the weight and the power of it.
My eyes remain fixed on his growing erection, almost as if my stare is making it grow even more.
Zach, pleased with my reaction, steps closer to the bed.
My heart beats frantically as I feel his cock press against my core, with no fabric between us. A flicker of fear crosses my mind—not of Zach, but of his size.
What if it doesn't fit?
The thought flashes through my mind, and I instantly feel ridiculous—like some clueless teenager.
Okay, fine, so maybe I am a virgin, but it's not like I'm completely ignorant.
I've watched enough porn (yeah, sue me—desperate times, desperate measures) and read enough smut to know how this is supposed to go.
Bodies are meant to do this... to stretch, to open, to welcome.
But watching it happen on a screen is worlds away from having a real, live, impossibly hard cock pressing against your entrance, ready to split you open.
Noticing my troubled expression, Zach cups my chin, tilting it until I'm forced to meet his gaze.
"Hey," he murmurs softly, "if you want to stop, it's okay. We don't have to rush."
"No, that's not it," I stammer, my cheeks burning even hotter. "I'm just... not sure if it's going to fit. You're... too big." The last part comes out in a squeak, and I immediately squeeze my eyes shut, wishing the mattress would swallow me whole.
Zach chuckles quietly, that familiar warmth flickering in his eyes as he smooths a thumb over my cheek.
"Oh, baby," he says, voice rough and tender all at once. "It'll fit. I promise. Your body will know exactly what to do with me."
"Oh God!" I groan, covering my face with my hands.
He laughs again, but when he speaks next, his tone softens. "Hey, look at me." His fingers curl around my wrists, gently tugging them away. "I won't hurt you. It might sting a little at first, but I'll go slow. You set the pace, okay?"
I nod, but the nerves don't really fade.
If anything, they multiply—racing thoughts piling over one another like an avalanche I can't stop.
What if this changes everything? What if it ruins us? What if after tonight he looks at me differently—less like the girl he loves and more like someone he conquered?
Before the spiral can swallow me whole, Zach leans over and presses a soft, questioning kiss to my lips. I try to kiss him back—to bury the fear beneath the heat—but my lips tremble, and my hands hover uselessly at my sides.
"Caroline," he says quietly, pulling back just enough to see me clearly. "Talk to me. Are you okay?"
I almost lie—almost say I'm fine, great, totally chill—but something honest slips out instead. "I'm scared," I whisper, cheeks burning with shame. "Not... not of you. Just... I don't know. Of everything, I guess."
