dick to where I’m wet and open for him. Despite my assurances, he still watches me closely as he pushes forward, sinking his dick slowly into me.
It’s nothing like that first time, which had felt a bit like being split open—a long, arduous sting that never quite ended. With Sebastian, it’s like being filled up, holding something inside me that I hadn’t even realized was missing.
My jaw falls slack on a gasp at the feel of it, and he breathes out a low, “Fuck yes,” as he sinks deeper and deeper, inch by inch, until there’s no space between us. He rests low on his forearms, letting me feel our chests pressed together as I get used to the stretch of him. Curling an arm over my head, he sweeps my hair back, planting a sweet, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth.
“You good?” he asks, and even though his eyes are lazy with that lust-sex-glaze, lips loose as they pluck leisurely at my own, I can tell from the way his muscles flex and roll that he’s holding himself back. “Need a minute?”
I shake my head, clutching his hips between my thighs, hands clamped tight around each of his biceps. “Just start slow.”
He doesn’t mention the tremble in my voice, and I’m grateful. I wouldn’t know how to explain that it’s not nerves. It’s the complete lack of them. It’s the way everything feels so confusingly right. It’s the feel of his body against me, inside me, and how I’ve spent so long with that constant, gripping pressure in the pit of my chest that it’s only now I realize that I don’t feel it anymore. Not like this. Not with him.
His first thrusts really are slow—these long, dragging motions that make me feel every single inch of him. He shifts to one elbow, ducking his head to watch himself move against me and letting out a soft groan at the sight.
Palming the outside of my thigh, he asks, “Wrap your legs around me.”
When I do, winding them around his waist, he sinks even deeper, his jaw going taut. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
I gasp out his name when his hips meet mine again, the pressure creating just the right amount of friction to make an entirely new spark of heat roll up my spine.
“Yeah,” he breathes, kissing me as he repeats the motion, but faster, a little harder, like he’s seeing how far he can take it. Pretty fucking far, if the way my hips buck back against him is any indication.
He gets his arms beneath me, around me, and suddenly heaves us back. I shoot out a hand to steady myself, but there’s no need. He’s got me in his lap now, one large palm pressed between my shoulder blades, helping me find my balance.
It takes a moment to adjust, winding my arms around his neck, but he’s looking at me so desperately, a lock of hair fallen in his eyes. “Oh, god,” I breathe, surprised at the way rocking against him like this is seriously doing it for me.
The hand on my back curls around my shoulder, bearing me down with each rock. “Yeah, just like that,” he says, bringing his other hand to my ass, guiding my rhythm. He captures my lips in a searing kiss, never closing his eyes, even as mine flutter. “You feel so fucking good. Show me, baby. Show me how hard you want it so I can fuck you right.”
I want to tell him that it’s okay. That I can take it. That I’m not scared anymore—not of this. Tomorrow will be a different story. Once we’ve done it—once we’ve had each other like this—will come the worry, but for now?
For now, I want everything.
He grunts when I meet his hips hard, the sound of our skin clapping loud between us. He bites out a low, “Fuck, Sugar,” fingers digging into my ass when he meets my next thrust, jerking me into his body. He sucks a kiss into my neck, breaths coming harder. “You want it like that? You want it hard?”
“Fuck yes,” I grit out, wanting to feel it—all of it.
Without another word, he dumps me onto my back, hovering over me with dark eyes and tense muscles. He jerks his hips back and slams them forward.
“Oh, fuck!” I cry, scrambling at his back. “Don’t stop.”
Through the fog of feeling so full of him, the sounds of the headboard slamming against the wall, the way I’m crying out with