I look up at him, chest rising and falling too fast, throat tight. He stays still, doesn’t pull away and doesn’t push forward.
“You’ve never…” he starts, voice raw. Then he cuts himself off and clenches his jaw, breathing hard through his nose like he’s trying not to lose it.
He lowers his head until his forehead rests against mine, his voice almost reverent when he speaks.
“You should’ve told me.”
“You would’ve stopped.” I swallow hard.
“Not a chance,” he says, his gaze locked on mine. “You’re all mine.”
He shifts his hips forward, just the tiniest bit, until the pressure against my entrance returns. My hands grab at his biceps, bracing.
And still, he doesn’t thrust. He waits.
“You sure you want this?” he asks, voice thick with restraint. “Me to be your first?”
Just him checking in again is enough to make my chest ache. I want to give this to him. I want to give this to myself.
So, I nod.
“Words, Melody.”
“I want it,” I whisper. “I want you.”
He kisses me—slow, patient—and with his mouth still on mine, he starts to press in.
I gasp at the foreign feeling, already stung by the stretch.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice cracking.
His hips shift slightly. He eases forward, deeper, the head already breaching me. His teeth graze my neck as he drags his cock back just a little, then nudges forward again, the pressure sharp and insistent.
“You’re gonna let me take this pussy,” he growls. “Let me make it mine.”
“Yes,” I whimper. My thighs clamp tighter around his hips. My nails dig into his arms.
He stills, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping the base of his cock. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them—storm clouds swallowing fire.
My heart’s trying to beat through my ribs. He leans in again, brushing his mouth over mine before trailing down to my neck, kissing me slow.
“You ever touch yourself thinking about this?” he murmurs. “Thinking about me inside you, fucking you?”
I try to say yes, but all that comes out is a broken sound. My head tips back as he kisses lower, across my collarbone. Every inch of me burns.
“Of course you did,” he breathes.
I arch into him and he smiles against my skin. Then I feel it—the pressure shifting, the push. My lips part as my body clamps down, muscles locking.
It’s too much, not enough, everything all at once.
And then—resistance.
There’s a sharp sting as he breaks through. My breath jerks in too fast. The ache is sudden and raw and deep.
I grip his arms like a lifeline, every nerve lit up.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grits out, voice strained.
