Page 56 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

I jolted, and it took me a moment to realize I hadn’t asked it out loud. Preston was either a mind reader, or I’d been staring at him with trepidation.

His expression turned serious as he stepped in between my legs and leaned over, planting a hand on either side of me on the mattress. My eyes were wide and probably anxious, but his were reassuring.

He sank down so he was supported on his forearms, and I was trapped beneath him. The heat of his naked body was right there, and he tipped his head down the final few inches so he could brush his lips against mine in something too gentle to be called a kiss.

Just the contact of our skin against each other’s caused a shiver to travel up my back and make my shoulders shake. It felt so nice, but it also set off the proximity warnings that always filled my mind whenever I came close to having sex.

I wouldn’t heed them this time, I told myself.

My fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, wordlessly pleading for him to kiss me for real. Like he meant it.

When he did? God. He was as desperate as I was.

That night in my bedroom, he’d had me climb on top of him and we’d ground our naked bodies together, so I had an idea of what it would feel like when his cock rubbed against me—but this was so different.

Every part of me was tense with anticipation, and when the head of his dick nudged forward, seeking entrance, the trembling that rattled me down to my core grew worse.

He broke the kiss and hesitation hung in his expression. I wished I could stop the tremor, but it was beyond my control, and a big part of it was just adrenaline anyway.

Not nerves.

Although—I had those.

It meant I had to convince him again. One of my hands slipped down his neck and across his chest until I had my palm squeezed between us and flat over his racing heart.

“I want you inside me,” I whispered.

He exhaled loudly, and I didn’t miss how it was tinged with relief. Because he wanted that, too, and it seemed like he wanted it badly. The muscles in his chest were hard as stone as he reached down and steadied himself, found the spot he needed to, and ever-so-slowly began to push inside.

The stretch of his two fingers earlier had been good, but this was a lot more.

I inhaled a sharp breath through my nose, and my hand on his chest instinctively pushed, trying to slow him down. The way he advanced, it didn’t exactly hurt—that was too strong a word to use.

But the sensation caused a deep, uncomfortable ache.

Plus, it went on . . . and on . . .

And just when I reached the limit of what I could take, he sealed his mouth over mine to distract, and took the last crucial inch. I let out a little whimper of displeasure, and he solidified. The only thing that moved was his lips, and they roamed over mine, alternating between short kisses and deeper ones, giving my body time to accommodate.

To adjust to his possession.

Holy shit. There was another person inside me.

I was motionless on the bed, and he was bent over, covering me, both of us struggling to catch our breath.

Slowly, his kiss began to travel. It moved across my cheek so he could whisper the question by my ear, as if not to disturb me.

“You okay?”

My word was quiet. “Yeah.”

I was okay.

It was still uncomfortable, but it wasn’t that bad. I liked how his hips were pressed against me and how my legs were folded around him. We were utterly connected, and I—

“Oh,” I said abruptly.

The sensation of him moving, of his slow withdrawal wasn’t at all what I’d expected. It was still uncomfortable, but not . . . unpleasant. He grasped one of my hips, pinning me to the bed while he continued to pull back, and then he began to ease forward again in a motion that was much too slow and deliberate to be called a thrust.

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