He guided himself into position. The tip pressed against me.
"Breathe," he said.
I breathed.
He pushed in. Slow. Inch by inch while he watched. He stopped when I gasped. Waited. Moved again when my body opened.
The burn faded as he gave me time, and underneath it was pressure, deep, specific, unlike anything I'd known. My body was making room for Heath. The literal act of opening to let someone further inside than I'd ever allowed.
"Okay?" His voice was low.
"Move."
He did. Slow at first, rocking his hips in long movements that let me feel every inch. I reached out for his back, feeling the muscles work.
He changed the angle. "There. Right there. Don't—"
"I know."
He held the position and then settled into a rhythm, forward and back. Neither frantic nor careful. I listened to the slap of skin against the backs of my thighs. The wet sound of bodies working together.
Heath gripped my hip to adjust the angle, fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks. I wanted the evidence. My whole life had been about leaving no trace, performing so cleanly that nothing stuck, and I wanted bruises in the morning the way I'd never wanted a trophy—proof that I'd been here, in my body, in this bed, choosing to open myself to this man.
I dug my fingers into his back hard enough to leave marks of my own. He pressed his face against my temple, breathing ragged and hot against my ear. He increased the pace.
"Close," I said.
He reached between us. Wrapped his slick fingers around my cock and stroked in time with his thrusts. The combined sensations, inside and out, pushed me over the edge.
I came hard. My back arched, and I reached up to clamp the back of his neck. Wordless sounds erupted out of me. Heath held me through it, slowed his hips and kept slowly stroking.
He came less than a minute later. His rhythm faltered. He pressed deep and held. His entire body locked and then released in one wave, his face buried in my neck.
We stayed like that. Connected. Breathing.
He pulled out gently. Dealt with the condom. Collapsed beside me and pressed his face into my shoulder.
"Scale of one to ten," he asked. Muffled. Hoarse.
"Eleven."
"The scale only goes to ten."
"Then the scale is insufficient."
He laughed into my skin.
We lay tangled in his sheets. My legs were still vibrating. The city hummed through open blinds. Heath laid his head on my chest, ear over my heart, one leg hooked over mine.
"You're worth it," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "You too."
He kissed my chest.
"Say it again."
"You're worth it."
