38. Kaia #2
The cool air hits my skin. I feel suddenly acutely aware of how exposed I am.
But then his hands are on me again—warm, steady, grounding.
And the vulnerability doesn't feel scary anymore. It feels right. And then, we’re skin to skin.
The sensation is overwhelming. His warmth.
His weight. The way every point of contact feels electric.
I can feel his heartbeat, fast, matching mine.
"Breathe," he murmurs.
I realize I've been holding my breath. I exhale slowly.
He kisses me, soft, patient before sliding his hand down my side, over my hip, between my thighs. His touch is careful, exploratory. Learning what makes me gasp. What makes me tremble. What makes me arch into him.
I've never been touched like this. My parents never allowed ordinary dating—relationships were supposed to be strategic, alliances that strengthened the pack.
I was being shaped into an Alpha heir, and attraction was a distraction I couldn't afford.
After I designated as an Omega, the control became suffocating.
They suppressed everything, treated my body as something they could eventually trade.
I learned that wanting things for myself was dangerous, so I buried those thoughts before they could take root.
But this—this is different. Lachlan's fingers move against me with deliberate slowness, finding places I never knew could feel so good, and there's no agenda behind his touch.
No expectation. Just patience. Just care.
My body responds without permission, hips lifting, thighs trembling, because for the first time, I'm free to choose. Free to feel. Free to want.
"Lachlan," I breathe, my voice shaking.
He looks at me, his eyes dark. Intense. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
"Don't stop," I whisper. His fingers move deeper, and I gasp at the unfamiliar pressure. It's not painful, but it's strange, my body doesn't know what to do with the sensation. I tense involuntarily.
"Relax," he murmurs against my ear. "I've got you. Just feel it."
I try. I breathe. And slowly, the strangeness shifts into something else. Something that makes my breath come faster. He works me carefully, patiently, until I'm trembling beneath him. Until I'm so wet I can feel my own need for him. Until my body is begging for something I don't have words for.
"I need…" I start, but I don't know how to finish.
"I know," he says. "I know what you need." He lowers, positioning himself between my thighs. I feel him there, hard, hot, pressing against me. The reality of what's about to happen hits me all at once. My heart races.
"Look at me," he says softly.
I do. His eyes are steady. Grounding.
"We go slow," he says. "You tell me if it's too much."
I nod. My hands find his shoulders, gripping tight. He moves forward. Just slightly. Just enough that I feel the pressure. The beginning of something. My body resists instinctively. I'm too tight, too inexperienced, too…
"Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe, sweet girl."
I do. And he pushes forward again. Slowly, so slowly. The pressure builds. My body stretches around him, unfamiliar, overwhelming. It doesn't hurt yet, but it's intense. So intense I can't think.
"That's it," he says. "You're doing so good.
" He pushes deeper. And then, there. The sharp sting.
The resistance giving way. The sudden, shocking fullness as he breaches me for the first time.
I cry out. My fingers dig into his shoulders.
It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. A burning, stretching pain that makes my eyes water.
He stops immediately. Stills completely. His forehead pressed to mine.
"Breathe," he says again, his voice strained. "Just breathe through it."
I try. But it's hard. Because he's inside me. Actually inside me. And my body doesn't know what to do with him. The pain is sharp and present, radiating through me.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. Do you need me to stop?"
"No," I gasp. "No. Just…give me a second."
He waits. Perfectly still. His hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. Grounding me. His other hand strokes my hair, my face, soothing.
Slowly, so slowly, the sharp edge of pain begins to dull. My body adjusts. Accepts. The burning fades into something else. Something fuller. Something that makes me aware of every inch of him inside me.
"Okay," I breathe. "Okay. You can…"
He moves. Just slightly. Just enough to shift deeper.
And the sensation, oh my gods. It's overwhelming.
The stretch. The fullness. The way my body has to make room for him.
It still hurts, but the pain is no longer the only thing I feel.
Beneath it is something warmer, something that pulls me closer
"You feel…" He stops. Swallows hard. "You feel incredible.
" He moves again. Slowly withdrawing, then pushing back in.
The drag of him against my inner walls is almost too much.
I feel everything—every ridge, every inch.
The way my body grips him, still too tight, still adjusting.
It hurts, but it's a good hurt. A hurt that's mixed with something else—pleasure, maybe, or the promise of it.
My body doesn't know the difference yet.
"Talk to me," he says. "Tell me what you feel. "
"Full," I gasp. "So full. It hurts but…but it's…"
"Good?" he asks.
"Yeah. Good. Don't stop."
He establishes a rhythm. Slow. Careful. Each thrust deliberate.
And with each movement, the pain recedes a little more.
My body learns. Adjusts. Begins to understand what it's supposed to do.
The burning fades. The stretch becomes familiar.
And underneath it all, pleasure begins to build.
Real pleasure. The kind that makes my toes curl. That makes my back arch.
"There," he murmurs. "That's it. Your body's learning."
He's right. With each thrust, it gets easier. Better. The discomfort eases into something that makes me gasp for entirely different reasons. My hips start to move with him, instinctively seeking more.
His hand slides between us, finding that place that makes me cry out. The combination, him inside me, his fingers on me, is almost too much. The pleasure builds fast. Overwhelming. I've never felt anything like this. "Lachlan…I…"
"I know," he says. "Let go. I've got you."
The pressure builds. And builds. My body doesn't know what to do with it. It's too much. Too intense. I'm going to break.
And then I do. The orgasm crashes over me like a wave. My body clenches around him—tight, rhythmic, overwhelming. I cry out again, my back arching off the bed. Every nerve ending fires at once. The pleasure is so intense it almost hurts. Almost crosses back into pain. But not quite.
I feel everything. The way my body grips him. The way he groans against my neck. The way the pleasure radiates outward from where we're joined, spreading through every limb. It's my first time feeling this. My first time understanding what my body can do. What it can feel.
And it's everything.
He follows moments later. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth, feel the way his body shudders. And even that, even that is overwhelming. Intimate in a way I didn't expect.
And then, stillness.
We lie there, tangled together, breathing hard. He's still inside me. I can feel the soreness now. The ache. The proof of what just happened. But I don't want him to move—not yet. His weight is still grounding. His warmth still surrounds me. He shifts slightly, carefully, and I wince.
"Sore?" he asks quietly.
I nod. "Yeah. But…good sore."
He pulls out slowly, carefully, and I gasp at the sensation. The emptiness feels wrong after being so full. I feel the wetness between my thighs—my own arousal, slick and warm—and the slight sting of soreness, maybe a little blood. The physical proof of my virginity lost.
He pulls me close, wrapping me in his arms. "You okay?" he asks.
I nod against his chest. "Yeah. I'm perfect."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "You are."
I smile, closing my eyes. His scent surrounds me, driftwood and ocean and safety.
My body feels different. Changed. Sore in places I've never been sore. Tender. Used in the best possible way, but also alive, like I've discovered something I didn't know existed. Something I didn't know I could feel. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear. Grounding. Constant.
And I realize, this was always meant to be him. Not because he was first. Not because he was safe. But because he's steady. Because he grounds me. Because with him, I'm not afraid. "Thank you," I whisper.
He adjusts gently, looking down at me. "For what?"
"For being you."
His expression softens. He pulls me closer. "Always," he murmurs.
And I believe him. Because I'm his. And he's mine. And that, right there, that's everything.