"Okay stop, leave me alone."
"You're so cute, Rava."
I smile, but then I turn just enough to look at him properly. My voice softens. "I'm serious, though." His smile fades a little. "No," he says, after a moment. "I haven't."
I blink. "Never?!"
He shakes his head, running a hand back through his wet hair. "Not once." I look at him, curious. "Why not?"
There is a pause. He isn't avoiding the question, he's thinking. He rubs his thumb along the inside of my arm. "I think, for me, it's always been about control. Not in the way people usually mean it. Not power. I mean…" He lets out a breath. "Safety."
I stay quiet. I know better than to interrupt. "I've been with people," he says honestly. "But none of them ever made me feel like I can give up control. Not fully. I can't afford to."
I rest my hand over his, squeezing it gently. He looks down at me. "It's not about the act itself. It's about what it means. Letting someone in like that, letting someone hold that kind of weight, you have toreallytrust them. And that's not something I've had a lot of in my life."
I feel my heart ache, even as I lean closer to him. "That makes sense. It's not weird." He smiles a little, almost relieved.
"Most people just ask why I'm not more 'vers' or something. Like it's a fucking checklist I'm supposed to complete."
"You're not a spreadsheet, Gio."
"Damn, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
I grin because of his joke, and then take a breath.
"Then let me be the first."
He blinks. "What?"
"I want to be the first," I say again. "If and when you're ever ready. I want to be someone you trust that much. Also you are my first. I want to be your 'first' something too."
His eyes don't leave mine. "You already are," he mutters. That throws me. I frown. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." He smiles faintly, fingers brushing over my stomach. "You already are my 'first' something. Twice."
I tilt my head, confused. "The first is the love part. God, my dad used to talk to me about this all the time." I turn my head slightly. "About what?"
He keeps his eyes on the water, his fingers moving gently. "About the day I'd fall for someone," he says. "He used to tell me, 'you'll know when it's not just a fling, Gio. When your chest starts acting like it's got a mind of its own.'"
I smile softly. "I always rolled my eyes. Told him, 'Nah, not me. I'm too cool for that romantic crap. That's for other people.'"
I let out a little laugh. "You? Too cool?"
"I was," he insists, grinning faintly. "I used to make fun of people who say shit like 'I miss you' or 'be safe' like it's poetry. I'd gag every time."
I turn fully in his arms, just to look at him. "If he could see me now, he'd lose it. He'd laugh his ass off."
"Why?"
He smiles, and his thumb brushes slowly over my ribs, right beneath my heart. "Because you've turned me into one of those people. The ones who think in all the soft, dumb, lovesick ways I swear I never would. All those things I said I'd never feel? They're all I think about. When it comes to you."
He leans forward and kisses my shoulder. "And…well, then there's the other thing."
"What thing?"
"First time I ever went raw."
I freeze. "Wait. What?!"
