Page 133 of The Bachelor

His lips were back on mine, his palms on my cheeks, his tongue slipping into my mouth as he inched forward.

The burning increased.

The ache shooting into my stomach.

“Baby …” He pecked my lips. “You’re doing fucking great.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

His hands tightened the moment I spoke my honesty. “When I’m all the way in and I give you a few pumps, it’s going to feel better. Trust me. This is the worst part.”

I believed him.

He was the expert after all.

But, my God, this was brutal.

“More,” I whispered.

And that was what he gave me, finally giving me some mental relief when he said, “I’m halfway in.”

Two more forward leaps, like the past two he’d just completed, and I would have all of him.

An amount I couldn’t even fathom, as I already felt so filled.

“I hate to tell you how good you feel because I know you’re in so much pain, but, Jesus, Oaklyn, your pussy is fucking amazing.”

I didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh or cry. But I knew the sooner this was over with, the faster I could find some kind of enjoyment.

“More.”

He moaned against my mouth. “Damn it.” His teeth ground together, his jaw flexing. “You’re so tight. So wet. So fucking warm.” The feral look in his eyes was a level of hunger I’d never seen in him before. “I could come right now.”

When I tilted my head back, needing a break from his stare, and said softly, “More,” there was a searing pain that I hadn’t experienced yet.

It rocked straight through me.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Tears were bubbling at the corners of my eyes.

“Oaklyn …” He was moving my face, lowering my chin until we were eye-level. “I know, baby. Just a few more inches, and you’re there.”

His softness.

Tenderness.

Love.

This was when I needed it the most, and he was giving it to me.

Everything he had told me he wasn’t.

But he was.

“More,” I said, trying to hide the emotion from my voice, trying to stop the tears from dripping. “Give it all to me.”

He was mindful of the way he was making me feel, but he did just as I’d asked.

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