Page 74 of Ripple Effect

With that affirmation, he closes the space between us, his body blanketing mine. Our lips meet again, but this kiss is deeper, more exploratory. His fingers slide into my hair, caressing and pulling, sending waves of pleasure cascading down my spine.

The slow, deliberate grind of his hips is torturous, and I arch up, seeking more contact, more friction.

His solid length presses into me, and I’m aching with a desperate need to be filled by him. But there’s still a part of me that’s stuck inside my own head. I haven’t been with anyone since—or before—Logan, and he was less than satisfied with what I had to offer.

Noticing the change in my demeanor, Elio gently withdraws, his eyes clouded with concern. “Why’d you stop?” I ask, fingers unconsciously reaching for his.

“You left me there alone for a minute.”

“I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve had ... a lot of partners, right?”

He lets out a sigh, tension rippling across his face. Lying down with his arm draped over his eyes, he says, “I’m clean, Daisy. I get checked religiously. My scene partners always come with a clean bill of health. Not to mention, I haven’t been with anyone in months.”

“No, no, no. That’s not—” I place a hand on his cheek, fingertips guiding his gaze back to me. “I know you wouldn’t put my health at risk. I just—I don’t have a lot of experience. And before this all started, I was on my way to figuring out more about myself in that ... arena. But certain things got in the way, and I just never had time to focus on it.”

He frowns, processing my words. “So, you’re worried I won’t enjoy myself?”

“It’s just that I’m not ... I mean, I’m no porn star, that’s for sure.”

“All I want is you. Just as you are,” he says. “No pretense. This—kissing you like this, holding you, just fucking looking at you—is better, hotter, than any sex I’ve ever had. Trust me on that.”

“El ...”

“Seriously, Daze. Being with you like this? It feels more real than anything I’ve ever known. In a lot of ways, this is kind of like my first time.”

“I believe you. And I want this, want you,” I whisper, my voice a quiet tremor. “I just want it to be good for both of us.”

A mischievous glint appears in his eyes. “Then how about we start slow?”

“Slow?”

“You could touch yourself for me.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Oh.”

“Or I could touch myself, and you could watch.”

“No, I’ll, um, I can do it. How should we—I mean, should we both lie here on the bed, or—”

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling me closer, chuckling softly at my nervousness. The sound of it—so raw and genuine—somehow makes me feel better, relieves a bit of the tension in the room.

I nestle in beside him, our bodies aligned but not touching, a thin layer of space between us. The bedsheets are soft beneath me, but all I can focus on is his intense gaze, studying me with warmth and curiosity.

“Just do what feels natural,” he encourages, his voice husky. “There’s no right or wrong way. And remember, it’s just you and me here.”

A nervous laugh escapes my lips. “You make it sound so easy.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “It can be. Just lie back.”

Obediently, I recline against the soft pillows. He leans over, wraps a hand around the back of my head, and presses his lips to my forehead. Then he slides off the bed and situates himself on the desk chair, placing himself directly in my line of sight.

He tilts back, thighs spread apart, and raises an expectant brow. “This is about exploring,” he says gently. “For both of us.”

His encouragement eases the nervous knot in my stomach. The moment feels surreal, vulnerable, but his presence is an anchor. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

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