Page 132 of Kentrell

Tears welled in her eyes.

“It hurt?” I asked, heart tight in my chest. I didn’t want it to—but I knew there was a chance.

“Not really,” she said in pieces, like she was holding her breath to dull it.

“Zoe.” I cupped her face. “Breathe.”

She nodded, exhaled slow. Her chest rose and fell in deliberate rhythm.

“Just be still,” I whispered. “And breathe.”

She followed my lead.

I used my thumb to catch the tear that slipped, then wiped away another.

And we juststayedlike that.

Still.

Until I felt her start to relax.

Her muscles softened, giving my dick just enough room to move. A little glide. A little give.

In and up.

Down and out.

I rocked my hips slow, steady, deep—feeling every bit of her with each stroke.

She gripped the sheets.

I gripped her hips.

And in that moment, there was nothing in the world except the sound of her breath, the warmth of her body, and the way I fit inside her like I was made for it.

Her body adjusted, little by little, softening beneath me as her breath fell into rhythm with mine.

Each stroke pulled a new sound from her lips—low whimpers, tiny gasps, the kind that made me feel every inch of her in places deeper than skin.

My hands slid up her thighs, gripping firm, guiding her body as I rocked into her.

Slow at first. Then deeper.

Then again.

And again.

“Shit…” I grunted, biting down on the corner of my lip, eyes dragging from her face to her chest—those perfect tits bouncing with every motion—then down to where we were joined. Slick. Messy. Beautiful.

She arched for me, chest to chest, mouth to my ear as she whispered things she probably wouldn’t remember saying.

Her nails dug into my back.

Her hips rolled, grinding up into me with purpose now.

With control.

Damn, she was taking me.

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