“Wait. Can we talk about this, please?” He reached over and gently grabbed my hand.

Humiliation simmered in my gut, caustic and searing, threatening to boil over. I spun around to face him, cheeks scorching. “Why do you even like me if you know this?”

“What?” Hurt flashed across his face, and his lips tugged into a frown. “I like you for a million reasons, and none of them have to do with sex.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, “because I seem to be defective in that department.”

Chase tugged my hand, pulling me to sit beside him. He rubbed my skin with his thumb, making slow, smooth strokes. “You’re not defective.”

“Sure feels like it.” My voice cracked, and I drew in a jagged breath, trying to quell the sob lurking in my throat. The only thing more embarrassing than this would be ugly crying in front of him.

“Oh man.” He sighed, dropping his head to his hands. Seconds ticked by as his back moved up and down with long, smooth inhalations and exhalations. His hands fell to his sides as he lifted his chin. “I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve been thinking about how to talk to you about this for a while now because I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“You didn’t,” I said, fighting back a wave of tears. “It’s fine.”

Somehow, I felt bad that he felt bad. Which only compounded my overall distress. A complicated mix of shame, sadness, regret, and fear swirled within me.

And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of relief.

“James.” Chase angled himself to face me. He took my hands in his, which were warm, slightly callused, and comforting. “I’m not judging you. I promise.”

I looked at our hands, avoiding his eyes. “You should be.”

“Trust me, you’re not the one I’m judging in this situation.”

“I honestly want to die right now,” I said, shaking my head as I stared at the textured gray comforter. “I can’t overstate that enough. No one knows that. I can’t believe I told you.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I don’t want you to feel like you need to fake anything with me.” He leaned closer, brushing a stray piece of hair out of my face. “If something I’m doing isn’t working, I’d rather know. That’s why I wanted to talk about this.”

“To talk about how I’m broken, you mean?”

“You’re not broken,” he said softly. “Lots of girls can’t come from penetration alone. It’s pretty common. Normal.”

In theory, I knew this. The internet and women’s magazines said as much. But it didn’t make me feel less inadequate, like I was faulty—or like certain parts of me were, at least.

Chase scanned my face, dark eyes patient as he waited for a response.