CHAPTER forty-three #15
Instantly, I feel another wave of heat spark low in my stomach—like my body just got the memo that this is it. The big night.
No more waiting, no more almosts, no more we should stop before we do something we'll regret. Nope.
We're officially crossing over to the land of zero self-control and absolutely no return.
My brain is short-circuiting, somewhere between holy crap this is happening and do I look sexy or do I look like a dying seal right now?
My pulse is doing its own drum solo, my hands have forgotten what to do, and every single rational thought I've ever had has packed up and left the building.
I'm equal parts terrified and thrilled—like waiting in line for a rollercoaster you begged to ride, only to realize too late that it's a thousand feet high and you're definitely about to scream the whole way down.
But God... I've never wanted to fall this bad.
Zach fishes out a small, square packet from his pocket, a condom, flashing a mischievous grin at me.
"Bit presumptuous, aren't you?" I tease.
"Just like to be prepared," he replies with a wink.
Zach stands up and removes his hoodie, revealing his chiseled, gorgeous body, causing my throat to go dry. In one swift motion, he pushes down his sweatpants and boxers, the fabric sliding over his hips before pooling at his feet.
For a split second, I'm so entranced by the motion itself that my mind goes blissfully blank.
And then I see it—him—and holy mother of...shit.
Zach's cock springs free, standing hard and proud, a fucking monument to every fantasy I've ever had about him and then some. It's big, but not intimidatingly so, the kind of cock that would fill me up perfectly without making me question my life choices.
The shaft is thick and ridged with veins, flushed a deep, angry red, and so rigid it curves gently upward toward his abs. The head is broad and perfectly shaped, like it was sculpted out of marble and then painted a shade darker than the rest of him, already glistening at the tip.
He's trimmed but not bare, the dark hair at the base trailing up toward his navel in a neat, masculine line. And he's so fucking hard, it looks like he's about to burst out of his own skin.
My jaw drops, and I feel my cheeks flush—not just with embarrassment but with a raw, hungry awe. I can't help but stare.
It's mesmerizing, the way the veins stand out, the way the head seems to pulse with every beat of my own heart.
I want to touch it, taste it, feel the heat of it against my lips, but for a second all I can do is gawk like an idiot.
Zach catches the look on my face and grins, that goddamn cocky smile that makes me want to punch him and then jump his bones.
"Like what you see?" he asks, voice low and smug.
My mouth moves but nothing comes out.
I just nod, eyes flickering up to meet his before dropping back down to his cock.
It twitches under my gaze, a fat bead of precum welling at the tip and threatening to drip down the shaft.
I have an almost overwhelming urge to lick it off, to taste the salt and heat, to wrap my fist around him and feel the weight and the power of it.
My eyes remain fixed on his growing erection, almost as if my stare is making it grow even more.
Zach, pleased with my reaction, steps closer to the bed.
My heart beats frantically as I feel his cock press against my core, with no fabric between us. A flicker of fear crosses my mind—not of Zach, but of his size.
What if it doesn't fit?
The thought flashes through my mind, and I instantly feel ridiculous—like some clueless teenager.
Okay, fine, so maybe I am a virgin, but it's not like I'm completely ignorant.
I've watched enough porn (yeah, sue me—desperate times, desperate measures) and read enough smut to know how this is supposed to go.
Bodies are meant to do this... to stretch, to open, to welcome.
But watching it happen on a screen is worlds away from having a real, live, impossibly hard cock pressing against your entrance, ready to split you open.
Noticing my troubled expression, Zach cups my chin, tilting it until I'm forced to meet his gaze.
"Hey," he murmurs softly, "if you want to stop, it's okay. We don't have to rush."
"No, that's not it," I stammer, my cheeks burning even hotter. "I'm just... not sure if it's going to fit. You're... too big." The last part comes out in a squeak, and I immediately squeeze my eyes shut, wishing the mattress would swallow me whole.
Zach chuckles quietly, that familiar warmth flickering in his eyes as he smooths a thumb over my cheek.
"Oh, baby," he says, voice rough and tender all at once. "It'll fit. I promise. Your body will know exactly what to do with me."
"Oh God!" I groan, covering my face with my hands.
He laughs again, but when he speaks next, his tone softens. "Hey, look at me." His fingers curl around my wrists, gently tugging them away. "I won't hurt you. It might sting a little at first, but I'll go slow. You set the pace, okay?"
I nod, but the nerves don't really fade.
If anything, they multiply—racing thoughts piling over one another like an avalanche I can't stop.
What if this changes everything? What if it ruins us? What if after tonight he looks at me differently—less like the girl he loves and more like someone he conquered?
Before the spiral can swallow me whole, Zach leans over and presses a soft, questioning kiss to my lips. I try to kiss him back—to bury the fear beneath the heat—but my lips tremble, and my hands hover uselessly at my sides.
"Caroline," he says quietly, pulling back just enough to see me clearly. "Talk to me. Are you okay?"
I almost lie—almost say I'm fine, great, totally chill—but something honest slips out instead. "I'm scared," I whisper, cheeks burning with shame. "Not... not of you. Just... I don't know. Of everything, I guess."
For a heartbeat, he just looks at me.
I brace myself for the sigh, the subtle eye roll, the classic 'you're overthinking again'. But instead, Zach smiles—soft and crooked, like I've surprised him in the best way.
"You think I'm not scared too?" he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "I've wanted this for so long, and I don't want to fuck it up."
That makes me laugh—nervous and breathy—but the knot in my chest starts to loosen.
"I don't want to fuck it up either," I admit, and my voice shakes just enough to make him grin.
"So, stop overthinking, baby," he whispers. "Don't think about what-ifs or maybes. Just think about me. Right here. Right now. You and me—nothing else exists."
His words land like gravity, pulling me back down to him, to this moment.
Zach's lips find mine once more, crashing together with a hunger that swallow every shard of doubt. His hand cups my jaw, thumb tracing the slick heat of my cheek, his tongue pushing past the seam of my lips to claim me utterly.
The world collapses down to the taste of him, the velvet slide of his mouth, the staccato drum of my heart in my ears.
Every touch kindle a firestorm beneath my skin, until the ache between my legs is less a complaint and more a primal, pleading demand.
Zach fumbles with the condom, blushing as he tears the wrapper with shaking hands, and I giggle—soft, nervous, affectionate.
The blunt head of his cock press against me—there, really there—and suddenly every nerve ending in my body seems wired directly to that single, trembling point of contact.
He pauses, just for a heartbeat, searching my eyes for some last-minute panic, some indication that this is all a mistake.
But my body has already made up its mind, arching into him instinctively, my fingers digging into the ridges of his back for leverage.
I want this, want him, want to feel all of it, even if it meant breaking in half.
No, especially if it meant breaking in half.
Zach's hands slid under my thighs, tilting my hips up, and with a low, shuddering groan he begin to push inside.
"Zach..." I squeeze my eyes shut, unprepared for the sharp sting that radiate through me.
My breath catches in my throat as I try to relax around the unfamiliar intrusion.
He freezes immediately.
"Babe?" His voice is tight with concern, his eyes searching my face. "Am I hurting you? We..we can stop."
I shake my head quickly, forcing my eyes open to meet his.
"No, I'm okay. I want this. I want you."
"Are you sure, baby?"
I nod, offering him what I hope is a convincing smile despite the discomfort still pulsing through me.
Zach's expression softens.
He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose before carefully beginning to move again.
The initial stretch is sharp—almost alarming—but I refuse to flinch, force myself to breathe through the pulse of burning discomfort.
Inch by inch, he fills me, patient and careful, his gaze never leaving my face.
It feels like the world tilts—like gravity forgets how to function.
Every slow push steals the air from my lungs, stretching me open in ways that make my body and soul short-circuit.
It's too much and not enough all at once, a slow burn that feels like he's carving his name inside me, claiming every inch with reverence and fire.
I clutch at his shoulders, half afraid I'll shatter if he moves another inch, half terrified he'll stop.
My pulse is everywhere—behind my eyes, between my legs, in the tremor of my breath.
It's dizzying, the way he fits, like we were always meant to lock together this way and the universe had just been holding its breath, waiting for this exact moment to happen.
I could see the strain in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip he keep on my waist, the way his eyes went glassy and wild as my body welcomes him deeper.
The pain ebb, replace by a hot, pulsing fullness.
When our eyes meet, the air between us turns molten. His gaze burns with hunger, but there's something else there too—something that makes my chest tighten. Love. Devotion. A kind of awe that nearly undoes me.