Page 73 of The Summer We Lie

"Relax, baby," he says, positioning himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me in a promise of what's to come. I take a deep breath, preparing for what's to come, for the pain and pleasure that will transform me irrevocably, making me his in the most fundamental way possible.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Skye

I feel him pushing into me slowly, the unfamiliar intrusion creating an odd stretching sensation that sends ripples of uncertainty through my body. At first, it's just strange—being filled in a way I've never experienced before, this intimate invasion that makes me hyper-aware of every inch of contact between us—but it doesn't take long before the strangeness transforms into a sharp, stinging pain that makes my breath catch.

"Shit," I say, my hands fluttering uselessly before finding purchase on his sides, gripping the firm muscle there. When he pushes in further, breaking past some invisible barrier inside me, I hiss sharply through clenched teeth. "Holy shit, fuck, this hurts."

Dom looks down at me, his face tight with concentration and something that looks almost like concern, his dark eyes searching mine. The muscles in his forearms strain as he holds himself above me, careful not to crush me with his weight.

"I think it's going to hurt more the slower we go," he says, eyes locked on mine, his voice rough with restraint. "I need to go all the way in."

"Like ripping off a Band-Aid?" I ask, my voice shaky from the pain, attempting a weak smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

"Yeah, like that," he confirms, and I can see him struggling to hold back, the cords in his neck standing out with the effort. "It's going to hurt like hell but not for long, and then I'll let you get used to it before I move again."

"Okay," I say, my voice barely audible even to my own ears, a whisper lost in the sound of our breathing.

"I need you to relax, baby. You're so tense," he says, his thumbs gently stroking my hipbones, tracing small, soothing circles that somehow manage to calm the storm of panic rising inside me.

"Okay," I say again, trying desperately to make my body comply, to melt into the expensive sheets beneath me instead of tensing like a bow string about to snap.

He dips his head down, kissing along my jaw and down my neck, his lips impossibly soft against my heated skin. The feeling of his mouth on me is a welcome distraction from the pain, and I sink into the sensation, focusing on the gentle press of his lips rather than the burning stretch below. Each kiss feels like a promise, a silent communication that he'll take care of me.

"Good girl," he whispers against my skin, his breath warm and damp, and something about those words makes me melt even more, like honey in hot tea.

I relax further, my body surrendering incrementally to his touch, muscles loosening one by one under his patient ministrations.

"It's time, baby," he says, his breath hot against my throat, creating goosebumps that cascade down my body. "Just relax and let me fill you."

"I'm ready," I whisper as he continues kissing my skin, anchoring me with his tenderness, giving me something to hold onto in this moment that's both terrifying and thrilling.

He thrusts into me fully with one fast, powerful motion that steals my breath away. I cry out, the pain so intense I feel it all the way to my lungs where the air is caught, trapped in my chest as if the shock has frozen everything inside me. It's like being split in two, a burning, tearing sensation that radiates outward from my core through my entire body.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says, and he wipes away tears I didn't even know had fallen, his thumb gentle against my cheek, catching the moisture there. "Breathe," he tells me, coaching me through it with surprising gentleness, his eyes never leaving mine.

I suck in a deep breath, trying to fill my lungs past the pain that seems to have taken up residence in every part of me. I feel so full, stretched beyond what I thought possible, and it burns so bad, the pain radiating through my core like wildfire. I keep focusing on my breathing, trying to find a rhythm that doesn't hurt, counting the seconds between inhales and exhales.

Of course I would pick someone with a monster fucking cock to take my virginity. I would laugh at the thought if it didn't hurt so bad. The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

I look up at Dom's face and see the strain there, his jaw clenched tight enough that I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead catching the dim light. I bring my hand to his cheek, surprised by my own tenderness, by the need to comfort him even in my discomfort.

"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned by his expression, the tightness around his eyes. "Does it hurt you?"

"No, baby, it's just hard to stay still like this," he says, his voice rough with restraint, almost a growl. "You feel so fucking good, but I'll stay still for as long as you need. You're doing so good, you just need to adjust to me."

I nod, running my fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it is between my fingers, silky strands that belie his hard exterior. I can't believe how sweet he's being, how patient with me when everything about him screams power and control. This man who commands rooms, who built empires, who radiates authority with every breath—he's holding himself perfectly still just for me, putting my comfort before his pleasure in a way that makes something flutter dangerously in my chest.

"I need you to do something for me now, okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but firm, the voice of a man used to being obeyed but trying his best to be gentle.

I’m willing to do anything to ease the discomfort, to make this better for both of us, to prove that his patience isn't wasted on me.

As I look up at him, I'm struck by the intensity in his eyes—desire tempered with care, lust balanced with tenderness. It's not what I expected from him, not what I prepared myself for when I agreed to this arrangement. I expected to be used, to be a vessel for his pleasure, just another body to satisfy his needs. Instead, he's treating me like I'm precious, like my experience matters as much as his own, like I'm something to be cherished rather than consumed.

It makes something unfurl inside me, something warm and dangerously close to affection, a feeling I hadn't planned for and don't know what to do with.

"Okay," I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.