“We stop if—”
“We stop if either of us wants to,” she finishes. “I know. I trust you.”
She lifts her hips, angles herself, and then—slowly, carefully—lowers.
The first tight, wet slide of her body taking me in is like nothing I have ever felt.
I have had sex before.
I have not had this.
Her breath stutters; her nails bite into my shoulders.
We move slowly. I hold perfectly still, every muscle screaming, while she takes me inch by inch, pausing when she needs tobreathe, adjusting her angle until her brow furrows and then smooths.
“Almost,” I rasp, hands gripping her hips hard enough I’ll probably see my fingerprints later. “You are… Goddess, you are tight.”
“You’re… a lot,” she mutters, voice strained.
Pride flares even through my careful control.
At last, her thighs meet my hips.
I’m fully inside her.
We both just… exist here for a moment.
No movement.
Just the feeling of her wrapped around me—heat, pressure, the wild, almost painful rightness of it.
Her eyes open.
We gaze at each other.
“Hi.” A tiny, breathless laugh shakes out of her.
“Hi,” I manage.
I reach for her face, cupping her cheek, and draw her down until our foreheads touch again.
Front to front. Mind to mind.
My other hand finds her heart, palm flat against the flutter under her ribs.
“This,” I murmur, voice shaking. “No arena. No crowd. No committee. Only you and me. Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes.”
She rocks her hips.
Just a little.
The sensation explodes through me.
My head thumps back against the pillow; a guttural sound rips out of my chest.
Her lips curve.
