a nipple into his mouth.
I moan involuntarily and arch into him—his touch, the stroke of his tongue, the wet heat of his open mouth latched onto me. His hands slide down my body and find the button on my jean shorts. I push them down, along with my panties, and kick them to the side. He takes my hips, squeezing them tightly.
I let myself dissolve into the moment. Into the feel of his tongue on my breasts. Into the heat of his mouth on my skin. I roll my hips, slide my fingers into his hair. For once in my life, I stop worrying about what I’m supposed to be doing and how I’m supposed to be acting. I just feel. Arrow makes me feel.
He responds to every sound that comes out of my mouth. Every move I make. Every time I moan or shift my hips to press our bodies closer. His breath catches and his hands grip me tighter, showing me how much my response turns him on.
Nothing is simple between us. Even if I never return to Brogan, he’ll always be between me and Arrow. Even if my dad can forgive me for falling for a Woodison, Arrow’s family will always be something between us. I’m not fooling myself into thinking that another girl sucking Brogan’s dick suddenly made my affection for Arrow less complicated. All I’m doing is allowing myself this night. This moment.
“I have condoms in my glove compartment,” he murmurs in my ear. “If you’re sure.”
I’m not sure. I’m scared. Not scared that it’ll hurt—though it might—or that he won’t be gentle with me—I know he’ll define gentle. I’m scared what this means to me. I’m scared that I’ve had months and months with Brogan and so many opportunities to do this with the man I’m supposed to love and I’ve found every excuse to avoid it. And here I am in Arrow’s arms at the first opportunity.
I’m scared of how much it means to me that he was there tonight—alone in his dorm room after a win, as if he were waiting for me instead of going to the party. I’m scared of how I’ll feel after. When I’ve given another piece of myself to the guy who had me from the first. But mostly I’m scared that this night might slip away before I can stretch my wings and fly.
“I’m sure,” I say, and before I can chicken out, I climb over the seat, pop the glove compartment, and pull out the box. It’s new. Closed. Sealed on all sides. That shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything more than that his last box is gone. But I don’t want to be just another condom in a half-empty box, so I like that I have to open it.
Arrow helps me peel his shorts and briefs from his hips, and I hand him the condom in its wrapper. He puts it on, splitting his attention between me and the latex covering his shaft.
I straddle him. He cups my jaw and his eyes lock with mine as I position my body over him and slowly work my way down. He gasps, and I bury my face into the side of his neck so he can’t see me grimace. It hurts more than I expected.
“Dear God, Mia. You’re so . . .” One hand squeezes my hip and the other falls from my hair to find my hand. He laces our fingers and holds them to his chest.
I stay still for a minute, letting my body adjust to his size, to this intrusion of someone inside me, until the pain gives way, edged out by pleasure. I pull back enough to look at our intertwined fingers, my skin against his, my knuckles against his pounding heart.
“Are you okay?”
Swallowing, I nod. “I’m good.” The emotion clogging my chest makes the word come out too thick, and I’m afraid he knows just what this means to me. Afraid he’ll take it back if he understands the magnitude of this moment.
He strokes my cheek and skims his thumb over my bottom lip. “Beautiful.” He holds me behind my neck and leads me forward to his kiss. His kiss is gentle and his lips are warm, and I feel so safe and good.
Any pain from the beginning is gone as I slowly rock into him. Experimentally, I lift my hips and slide down along his length. He sets his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, so I do it