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Especially his cock—it looks massive. Thick, veined, the tip flushed red and weeping with a clear liquid. It curves up toward his stomach, and his balls settle heavy beneath. I think of putting my mouth on him, of learning him that way first, but I know at once I’m too impatient for anything that doesn’t end with him inside me.

“You have, what I can only imagine, is an impressive cock. But don’t let that go gettin’ to yer head.”

His length twitches, and my core gives an answering little flutter. The voice inside me says something akin to fill yourself full of him now, you daft-fiery crotched devil of a woman.

I climb into his lap before he can think to stop me, letting my centre rub ever so gently against the rigid length of his cock.

He makes a sound so sinful it causes the peaks of my nipples touching his chest to ache at the contact.

“I want to ride you.”

For one glorious heartbeat, Alex can only stare at me.

Then an actual, startled squeak catches out of him when he tries to speak.

I blink.

He blinks.

“For your first time?” he manages, and now I’m the one who nearly laughs myself sick at the sound, because there’s something so wonderfully absurd about that noise coming out of him when he has spent the last hour being heartbreakingly romantic and devastatingly certain.

I lean in, letting my mouth brush the corner of his.

“I think,” I whisper, wicked as sin, “I can take you.”

His hands flex at my hips.

“Rosie.”

“What?” I murmur, nuzzling my nose against his. “You mean to keep me for the rest of my life, aye? Surely you can trust me to know what I want for one night of it.”

He lets out a broken laugh and tips his forehead to mine.

“You are trouble.”

“You like trouble.”

“I love trouble,” he mutters, and kisses me again like he can’t help himself.

That one turns hungry fast.

I shift in his lap, and the sound he makes this time is far less innocent. He breaks the kiss, tipping his head back for one brief second, and I catch the line of his throat, the strain in his mouth, the way he is trying not to grip me too hard and failing beautifully at it.

I take shameless advantage of it. I press a slow kiss to the length of his throat, then another, and roll my hips to pull a rougher sound from him. His hands tighten at once, and the feeling of that—of how badly he wants me, how hard he is trying to hold himself together for my sake—sends a thrill straight through me.

“Godsdamnit, Rosie,” he mutters.

The sound of it sends a shiver straight through me.

“You tell me if anything hurts.”

“I’ll tell you,” I say, leaning back to look at him.

“And if you want me to stop⁠—”

“I won’t.”

A flash of heat crosses his face at that, chased quickly by helpless affection.