Page 19 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Cowboy

He looks up at me from between my thighs, "Let go, Charlotte," he urges. "I've got you."

And I do, shattering into a thousand pieces as waves of pleasure crash through me. Vincent stays with me through it all, gentling his touch as I gradually come back to myself, trembling and breathless.

When he moves back up my body, his expression is one of male satisfaction and genuine tenderness. He kisses me softly, and I taste myself on his lips—strange but intimate in a way that makes me feel claimed.

"That was..." I whisper, unable to find words.

He smiles, brushing damp hair from my forehead.

"Just the beginning," he promises.

The mattress trembles slightly beneath his shifting weight as he stands at the edge of the bed, his powerful body silhouetted in the moonlight. He pushes his sweatpants down to pool around his ankles.

The substantial bulge beneath his briefs makes my mouth dry. Then, with confident movements, he lowers his underwear, freeing his arousal. His cock springs forth, thick and impressive, bobbing briefly before standing proudly erect like an arrow pointing directly at me.

Without conscious thought, my legs spread wider in a wordless invitation. I met this man barely twelve hours ago, yet here I am, offering my virginity.

Some distant part of my mind registers the absurdity, but deeper than rational thought is bone-deep certainty: I want this. Notjust the physical pleasure, but him, his daughter, his family, this ranch—a place I could finally call home.

This isn't professional, certainly not what the agency would expect from me. But as Vincent moves back onto the bed, positioning himself between my thighs, all rules and regulations vanish from my mind.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice strained with restraint.

I reach up to touch his face. “I've never been more certain of anything.”

He nods, reaching down to guide himself to my entrance. The blunt pressure as he begins to push forward makes me gasp. Vincent pauses, giving me time to adjust, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Breathe, Charlotte," he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

I inhale deeply, consciously relaxing, and he pushes further. The discomfort mingles with pleasure as he continues his careful advance, retreating slightly before pressing deeper each time.

When he meets resistance—physical proof of my virginity—his eyes lock with mine.

"This might hurt," he warns softly.

With one smooth thrust, he breaks through. I gasp at the sharp pain, my nails digging into his back. Vincent freezes, now fully joined with me.

"You're so tight," he groans. "And I... I haven't done this in a very long time. Can't promise I'll last long."

His admission surprises me. This confident, capable man, uncertain in this moment—it endears him to me even more.

"This is already incredible," I assure him, the pain already subsiding, replaced by a novel sense of fullness and connection.

He begins to move in slow, careful thrusts that gradually build in rhythm as my body accommodates him. His hips rock forward with growing confidence as he locks eyes with me, intense and unwavering, as if memorizing every reaction, every subtle change in my expression.

Sweat glistens on his skin as his movements become more deliberate. A few drops trickle from his hairline, trailing down before falling onto my chest. The sight of him above me—this strong, capable man losing himself in our connection—intensifies my own pleasure.

A particularly deep thrust hits something inside me that makes me gasp loudly. The sensation builds quickly, threatening to pull sounds from me that would surely echo through the quiet house. I bite my lip, trying to stay silent, but another thrust in the same spot makes a moan escape.

I quickly cover my mouth with my hand, eyes wide with the sudden reminder that we aren't alone—his brothers and daughter sleep just down the hall. Vincent watches this with dark eyes, clearly aroused by my struggle to stay quiet. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear.

"I want to hear you," he whispers. "Next time, somewhere we can be alone."

The promise of "next time" sends a thrill through me. This isn't just a momentary lapse in judgment. He's already thinking ahead, planning for us.

His pace increases, his breathing becoming more ragged. I can feel him swelling inside me, his control slipping. My own pleasure coils tighter, building toward something I can sense will be even more powerful than before.

"Charlotte," he groans softly, his voice strained. "I can't hold back much longer."

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