Page 122 of Marrying the Savage

Heat, curiosity, fear. All of it at once. I’m not small, and she’s not experienced enough to hide the thought.

I brace one hand beside her head and take myself in the other, stroking once to ease the ache. Her throat moves.

“You look nervous,” I say.

“I’m considering logistics.”

Despite everything, a laugh tears out of me.

She blinks, offended. “This isn’t funny.”

“No,” I say, still smiling against her mouth as I kiss her. “It’s not.”

Her hands settle on my shoulders, then slide down my chest, as if she needs to remind herself I am real. When her fingers reach the scar near my ribs, she pauses.

I catch her hand and kiss her palm, and her expression shifts. I guide her hand above her head, then spread her thighs wider with my knee. My cock drags through the wetness between her legs, brushing her clit, and she gasps sharply.

I do it again.

Her hips lift. “Careful,” she whispers.

“I promised.”

The head of my cock presses against her entrance.

Her body tenses immediately.

I stop.

Her eyes fly to mine, wide and uncertain.

“Breathe,” I say.

“I am breathing.”

“No. You are preparing for war.”

“Same thing in this family.”

I kiss her. She laughs once into my mouth, breathless and scared, and that small sound lets her body soften just enough.

I push in slowly. Only an inch.

She goes still beneath me.

She’s so fucking tight I have to close my eyes for a second, because every instinct in my body tells me to drive forward and bury myself in her completely. I don’t. I hold myself there, jaw locked, arm shaking with the effort of restraint.

Sofia’s nails dig into my shoulder. It hurts.

Fuck yes. The pain keeps me sane.

“You’re too big,” she whispers.

“You can take me.”

“That sounds like male optimism.”

“It’s fact.”