Page 132 of You're The One
But Dom doesn’t move.
“You know I was never going to be with anyone but you, right?” he tells me. “I wasn’t even going to be with you until this.” He gestures between us.
“Untilwhat?”
“Us. Until we were together. In a real way. We are, right?” His brows pull together, like he’s suddenly unsure.
“Yes. You’re stuck with me,” I say, trying to quiet the part of me that is spinning with what this means for the future. Tomorrow. Next week. A year from now. But I shove the worry down, refusing to let it steal this from me.
“Good.” He kisses me once, then eases back to check a drawer. Nothing but a room service menu. He moves to the opposite stand, and when he turns around, a wide grin spreads across his face, a sleeve of condoms dangling from his hand. “Bingo.”
He collapses on me, and we both laugh, breathless, until we’re kissing again.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Yes. Positive.”
“We can wait?—”
I cut him off, “No. I don’t want to wait.”
His eyes search mine, still checking for any sign of hesitation.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I echo, just as soft.
He fumbles with the condom wrapper, tearing it open with shaking fingers, and rolls it on. I hold my breath, every part of me aching for what comes next.
Then he’s back between my thighs.
“Are you?—”
“If you ask me if I’m sure again,” I warn, “I might actually lose my mind. Just kiss me.”
He does. And I lose myself in it. We move together until I’m chanting his name, pleading with him.
The moment he presses into me, slow and steady, the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
“Are you all right? Am I hurting you?”
“No,” I lie.
Because it does sting. More than I expected. There’s so much pressure, and my body doesn’t quite know what to do with it. I try to keep my face neutral, in an attempt not to give anything away. If he sees it, it’ll ruin everything.
He’s gotten too good at reading me. I don’t want him to read this. Just this once, I want to feel normal.
I kiss along his jaw, down the side of his neck, using the movement to hide my face.
I want him to see the confident, capable version of me, not the one filled to the brim with what-ifs. I want this to be about us, not everything I did or didn’t do before him.
I will my body to relax and am rewarded when he shifts, grinding his hips against mine. A flicker of pleasure breaks through the discomfort. Enough to make me moan.
He lets out a string of words I don’t understand, something low and reverent. “Cazzo. Sei così stretta, tesoro. Mi avvolgi splendidamente. Così perfetta. Fatta per me.”
His pace remains steady. I feel every glide of his cock. Now that the sting has faded, it feels good—better than good—but I’m not sure I can come like this.
As if reading my mind, he shifts, bracing himself on one arm while the other slips between us, fingers circling my clit. I’m transfixed by the sight of his hand moving over me, of him moving inside me. I’m also maybe trying not to meet his eyes.
