I could feel every inch of him against me, feel the slow, deliberate way he adjusted, trying to find the right angle.

I should’ve felt scared.

But I wasn’t. Because I had never felt safer than when he was looking at me like this—like he would never let anything hurt me, even if it was him. As if he could hear my thoughts, he whispered, “Tell me what I can do to keep from hurting you.”

The answer was right there, sitting on my tongue.

Never leave me. Instead, I whispered, “Nothing. Just…do it.”

Blake’s breath came out uneven, as if he was battling something within himself. But he nodded. He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips before moving slowly, cautiously, his eyes locked onto mine, searching for any sign of pain. I gritted my teeth and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to relax.

I wanted this.

My eyes shot open as a sharp, searing pain shot through me. Oh my God.

It felt like something was ripping me apart from the inside out, stretching too much, too fast. I tensed, trying to keep my body from reacting, but it was impossible to ignore.

A hiss of pain escaped between my teeth, and Blake stilled instantly. Panic flashed across his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried. “Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. Do you want me to pull out?”

Yes! No—I didn’t know.

“No,” I forced out. “Keep—keep going.”

“I’m doing it wrong, aren’t I?”

“Oh my God, just keep going. You’re making this awkward.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re ruining it.”

“Fuck.”

This was not how I imagined this going. I had expected it to hurt, sure. But I had also expected some kind of… I don’t know, movie magic moment. I had pictured something easier—where our bodies just fit, where I was swept away by the intensity of it, lost in the pleasure, lost in him. Instead, all I felt was the sting, the burning discomfort of something foreign and unyielding.

Blake braced himself above me, muscles tense, his face etched with uncertainty. I could see the war in his eyes, the hesitation.

I groaned, frustrated at myself, at him, at all of it. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him down to me. “Just kiss me, Blake. Kiss me slowly.”

He did.

And it helped.

I didn’t think of the pain so much with his tongue tangling with mine. In fact, I felt turned on again. Blake had the ability to kiss like it mattered, like he had to savor my taste.

I felt him growing harder inside of me. How was that possible?