Page 167 of Unexpected Hero

The teasing glint in his eyes fades, giving way to more of that ardent passion from earlier.

Right before he kisses me, he whispers across my lips, “You have no idea how hard it was to wait for you to say that. I’ve been aching for you for so long, Violet.”

Once his mouth is back where it belongs — sealed to mine — he coaxes my lips open and tangles our tongues in languid strokes. With deliberate slowness, he reaches between us, grips his cock, and nudges it into my body.

All the rush and frenzy of our earlier kisses give way to a different kind of intensity. It’s less harsh and frantic but no less consuming or passionate. A poignant tenderness blossoms inside my heart, making this moment all the more special.

He’s so damn perfect.

He can’t possibly know I’m a virgin, but the way he’s being so loving and gentle, it seems like he does.

As he starts to slip inside me, he breaks the kiss, opting to stare into my eyes instead. With our foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingle. Despite the hammering of my pulse and nerves, I don’t break eye contact.I’m not shy anymore.

My racing thoughts are silenced as I lose myself in his eyes. They hypnotize me.

Inch by inch, he drives his hips forward, then pulls back before advancing again. His breath hitches, and a ghost of a moan comes from somewhere deep in his chest.

Although it seems like he’s struggling, he manages to get deeper with each forward pulse. The farther he goes, the more it hurts, though. I grit my teeth when the sting becomes overwhelming and approaches the point where pleasure stops drowning out the pain. And this isn’t the good kind, like with my nipples. Sadly.

Does it always hurt like this?

I should have made Stella tell me more about her first time instead of sticking my fingers in my ears like a damn child every time she attempted to educate me — her words, not mine.

Every muscle in my body tenses at his intrusion. Consciously, I know he’s not ripping me open, but it feels that way.

“Fucking hell, baby. You’re too tight. Relax.”

Not sure relaxing is the problem here, but I can’t tell him that.

Reminding myself this is likely a temporary pain that will soon pass — otherwise, women would avoid sex like I avoid doing laundry — I command my vagina to soften and let him in.

As you’d expect, it ignores me. Probably because it’s a vagina. And I’m no vagina whisperer.

James rises off me enough to allow his hand to slip between my thighs. Like he has eyes on his fingertips, he finds my clit almost instantly. It’s insulting since it took me longer to find it for myself the first few times I mustered the courage to attempt a little self-loving.

As he drags the thick pads of his fingers over the tiny bundle of nerves, he’s able to slip his cock farther inside me, and a moan escapes me along with a warm puff of air. Oh, that’s much better.

Maybe his fingers are vagina whisperers.

Unfortunately, the deeper he goes, the harder it becomes to control my facial expressions or censor the sounds flying out of my mouth. Instead of dainty moans and girlie gasps, I’ve graduated to colorful expletives that would make a truck driver look at me cross-eyed.

He’s only been inside me for a handful of seconds, but it feels like an eternity. I don’t know how much farther James needs to go before this is over, but it cannot fucking come soon enough — no pun intended.My hands might as well have been cast in stone where I’m gripping his shoulders.

“Hold on, hold on,” I blurt out when it becomes too much. “Stop, stop. Give me a damn second.”

He pauses without hesitation and slips out of me. Despite the physical relief of his withdrawal, my heart hurts at not being able to please him.

Scooping my hair back, he tucks it behind my ears and looks at me without judgment or disappointment. Only concern and kindness. “What’s wrong, Lettie? Did I hurt you? I thought you were ready.”

Tears fill my eyes from out of nowhere. I can’t answer him. I want to. But if I tell him the truth, it’ll make him feel bad. And if I don’t, I’m a liar and a V-card concealer.

“Oh sugar bear. Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” He kisses my tears away, literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m-I’m...” My sentence dies because I have no clue how to finish the sentence.

I’m a virgin.

I’m an idiot.

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