I’m glad he knows what he’s doing because I sure as heck don’t. Obviously I know what sex is and the supplies you need to make it a success, but in the moment, my brain doesn’t seem to want to work. I prefer when he instructs me on what to do.

He moves like a panther—seductive, slow—as he undresses. I’m nearly giddy at the idea of seeing all of him. Every naked inch. With my teeth gnawing into my bottom lip, I watch as he sheds his coat and tie. The white fabric of his shirt barely contains his sculpted muscles. My mouth waters when he begins unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing his undershirt. He pulls off the dress shirt and I’m dazzled by the way his undershirt strains over his body. His bicep bulges as he reaches behind his neck to yank his undershirt off. I follow the fabric as it tugs free of his slacks and reveals tanned, chiseled abs with a dark happy trail beneath his belly button.

“Say something,” he commands. “I can’t tell if you like what you see or if you’re terrified.”

My eyes snap to his. “A little of both. Mostly turned on. A little scared you might vanish and this is all a cruel dream.”

He chuckles, low and deep, tossing away his undershirt. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not with the most beautiful girl lying on my bed looking like a fucking vision.”

I flush at his words. He undoes his belt and then unfastens his slacks. I’m enraptured at the teasing reveal of his masculine form hiding beneath his pants. Black boxers are tight around his bulging erection, giving me a preview of what lies beneath.

I clench my thighs together, wondering how this is going to work. He couldn’t get two fingers in last night, but I’m somehow supposed to take his cock, which is much, much thicker than a couple of fingers. He’s going to split me in half with that thing.

I don’t even care at this point.

I just want it—him.

He pushes down his boxers and his cock bobs heavily, jutting toward me. The tip glistens with pre-cum. His electric blue eyes pin me to the mattress as he takes his thickness in his hand. Slowly, he strokes over the hard flesh, squeezing at the tip, making the cum drip down over his finger.

I want to taste him.

“Can I touch you?” I murmur, sitting up on my elbows.

“You can do whatever you want, beautiful. I want this to be good for you. Your first time should be special.”

My heart flutters. Who knew my statistics teacher could be such a romantic?

“I want to taste you,” I whisper. “But I don’t want to do it wrong.”