He leans down and kisses me, sliding one hand into my hair and likely destroying my ponytail. My body relaxes into it but immediately tenses when I feel him begin to ease inside me. It doesn’t hurt—yet—but it feels strange. My reflex is to flinch away from the intrusion. I force myself to stay still. Gray’s finger rubs the nub of nerves right above his dick. Fresh sparks of pleasure flare, and it helps distract me from the foreign sensation. He slides in another inch, then two. Pain overtakes pleasure as I start to feel full. So full that it stings.

Every person gets one first. There’s no redo, no takebacks. There’s no uncertainty or regret anywhere in me. It could hurt like hell for the next twenty minutes, and I’d still do this all over again.

He thrusts deeper, and the burn intensifies. I bite my bottom lip—hard.

“Are you almost in?”

Gray stills. I suck in a couple of rapid breaths.

“Um…no.” He sounds apologetic…and a little proud.

I roll my eyes. “Get it over with. Just—”

He moves, and it feels like I’m being split open. I whimper as I stretch. As I feel him—everywhere. Forget touching his dick. This is intimate on a whole other level. He’s in me. Above me. Around me. And then he’s no longer moving, letting me get used to him.

The room is silent, aside from the sound of our breathing.

“I’m good,” I say after a minute. “You can, you know, move.”

I’m adjusting. Rather than strange, he feels good.

“Are you sure?”

I clench around him in response.

“Fuck.”

That erotic rasp makes me moan. Then, he’s kissing me. Kneading my breasts. Caressing my clit. I lose the capability of forming whole sentences. Single words. I make sounds I hope convey, Keep doing everything you’re doing.

I’m shocked to feel the beginnings of an orgasm.

Sweat beads as our skin rubs and slaps. I pant out his name, intermingled with, “Please,” and, “Harder,” and, “More.”

After the sharp pain, the sweet pleasure feels unbearable. I’m chasing it and running away from it. And then I fall, feeling my inner muscles tighten around the foreign fullness filling me. My nails dig into his back. Gray keeps thrusting, prolonging my pleasure until he finds his own.

He pulls out and collapses beside me.

“Wow,” I say once I’m able to speak. Is it always like that? I think but don’t ask.

Gray chuckles, then leans over and grabs a tissue to wrap around the used condom. “I’m going to get a drink. You want anything?”

“Um, no, I’m good.”

An “Okay,” and I’m in the bed alone.

I just acclimated to his presence—in me, near me—and suddenly, it’s missing.

You knew what this was. Gray isn’t a happy ending.