Page 229 of The One
He sways us gently, both of us barefoot, the thick plush rug impossibly soft beneath our feet. At first, his posture is a little rigid, his muscles tense beneath my touch as I rest my head against his shoulder.
He doesn’t kiss me or reach for my zipper as I expected. He just dances with me. His lips rest on my temple, one arm secure around my back, the other holding my hand.
“Why are you nervous?” I ask quietly. “You’ve done this a million times.”
The reminder of all the women he’s bedded before me isn’t a welcome thought. It only amplifies my own inexperience and the uncertainty curled up in my stomach. He’s been teaching me, but we obviously never went all the way.
“Not a million times,” he replies, sounding almost offended. Then he falls silent, resting his forehead against mine.
I stroke his back, my fingers moving in slow, soothing patterns, hoping to ease his nerves.
“It never meant anything before,” he admits quietly. “So there was no reason to be nervous.” His hold on me tightens, his breath warm against my skin. “This here with you, it means everything. And…” He lets the rest of the sentence trail off.
I don’t lift my head off his shoulder, worried it might stop him from opening up.
“And?” I prompt softly.
“And I’m petrified of hurting you.”
Chapter Eighty-Six
Mateo
Her smile is blinding, and my chest tightens.
How the fuck did I get so lucky?
She presses her forehead against mine, winding her arms around my waist, holding me so tight like she never wants to let me go.
“I’m expecting it to hurt,” she says, voice steady, matter-of-fact. The words land like a gut punch.
Pain. Her pain. Because of me.
I clench my jaw against the wave of sudden anxiety. The thought of causing her even a second of discomfort is grating on me.
She must sense it, because she tilts her chin, brushing soft fingers over my cheek, her rings cool against my heated skin.
“But I also know it won’t be for long. That you’ll make me feel so good. You always do.”
A groan catches in my throat.
She has no idea how much I want that, to give her pleasure so intense she’ll forget everything else. To make our first time together perfect for her. For us.
She cups my face fully now, fingertips pressing just enough to ground me while her eyes stare into mine.
“It means everything to me too, to have this first with you,” she whispers. “You’re the only man I ever wanted to give this to.”
I exhale sharply, my control slipping at the raw honesty in her eyes. The magnitude of what she’s giving me, what she’s trusting me with, slams into my chest.
She tugs me down, her lips grazing mine, featherlight, before she pulls back and rests her head against my shoulder again. My arms tighten around her, and I start swaying us to the music once more.
“All my firsts belong to you, husband.”
That last word.
Fuck.
It wrecks me, the way she says it. Possessive. Certain.
