Her stomach tightened in anticipation.
He reached down, eyes never leaving hers, and unfastened his trousers, sliding them off. She watched, knowing her eyes were wide as saucers and her cheeks were flushed pink.
He was glorious naked—his legs firm and muscled, his skin bronzed and smooth. She willed herself to peek at his manhood and was then unable to tear her eyes away.
Oh, Lord! It was much too big. This was never going to work.
She could see him gauging her reaction, and his expression was patient and understanding. But behind that patient expression lurked the hint of a dare. He arched a brow and seemed to ask how far she would really go.
Lucia could never resist a dare.
Meeting his gaze unabashedly—though inside she felt complete terror—she smiled. Her fear receded, and she reached out to caress him, watching his expression transform from challenge to shock to bliss. Moving her hand over him, she wondered at the silky, hot flesh between her fingers.
He groaned and stilled her hand.
“Did I hurt you?”
His groan had sounded so full of agony, she was sure she’d done something wrong and ruined everything now.
“No,” he said, and she relaxed.
“It feels too good. I want to be inside of you.”
She tensed again, remembering his size. He moved over her, his body covering hers like a wall of smoldering steel. His gray eyes were dark and heated with passion. Lucia had never felt so desired or so . . . vulnerable. “Alex?”
“Hmm.” He kissed her, running his hands over her body. She shuddered and forgot what she’d wanted to say. Then she felt him hard against her.
“Alex.” She gave him a little push. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“It’ll work,” he murmured against her neck.
She cleared her throat. “What I mean is, I don’t think you’re going to fit.”
He tried to hide it, but she saw him suppress a smile. “Trust me,” he said.
“But—”
“You talk too much.” And then he was kissing her again, his hands moving over her, drugging her, mesmerizing her, leaving her breathless.
And when he whispered, “This is going to hurt a bit,” the words had no meaning. All she knew were his fingers caressing her and the feeling of pleasure rising again.
And then he surged forward, and the pleasure was replaced by a stab of pain. She cried out before she could stop herself and scrambled to get away. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Something was definitely wrong. She could feel him inside her, and it was strange and painful and— she moved slightly—wonderful? “Alex?”
His head was lowered, and he was breathing hard. “Alex,” she said again.
His eyes found hers, and she was intrigued by the look of raw, open need in them. Had she caused that? “Are you all right?” His voice was hoarse, strained.
She moved and found the pain was fading. “Yes. Are you?”
“Did I hurt you?” he pressed. “Is it very bad?” Her heart melted. He looked so young, so exposed.
Had anyone ever been so concerned for her?
Alex. There was nothing but Alex, the feel of him inside her, his heart beating against her breast, his arms holding her.
“A little,” she whispered, suddenly shy.
