Page 37 of Meet Me In The Dark
Broader. Heavier. Harder.
My fingers clutch at his arms, searching for stability.
When his hand rests on my throat, he doesn’tsqueeze; he just strokes his thumb along my jaw.
“Breathe for me.”
I force a shaky exhale, trying to ground myself.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
Chasing more, I arch into him.
“Spread your legs.”
I try.
I try to listen. I focus on the warmth of his body, the grounding pressure of his hand, and the steady cadence of his voice, but my body won’t let go.
This is always the moment I brace for—the shift from pleasure to pain, where understanding turns into impatience and tenderness becomes fumbling, making me feel like I’ve failed.
I’ve been here before.
The quiet disappointment. The effort it requires. The way it becomes work.
So I tense up, blinking back the sting in my eyes, and wait for it.
Instead, his hand lifts from my throat to my chin.
I can’t see him, but I know he’s watching.
“We can stop.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to.”
“Breathe,” he orders again, voice firm. “I mean it.”
I suck in a full breath, feel it burn through my lungs, and release it slowly.
“Again.”
I obey, and something inside me starts to loosen.
“One more.”
This time, I melt.
I don’t even realize it’s happening until my limbs go soft and my body slackens beneath his, but my mouth curves into a small, relieved smile.
“I’m going slow. If you want to stop, tell me. Gotit?”
I nod. “Got it.”
And then, finally, pressure.
He pushes in, inch by deliberate inch, and my body goes still.
I brace for the pain I know all too well, but it doesn’t come.
