As he brings himself to my entrance, I can see a look of pure, utter concentration on his face—with clear shadows of concern.
“Dean,” I whisper, taking his face in my hands. “It’s okay. You’re not going to hurt me.”
He shakes his head. His jaw is gritted tightly shut. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I insist, “and I don’t want you to look like you’re doing math equations the first time you enter me. Relax and do what feels right. I promise I’ll be okay.”
He laughs at that, expression softening. “Okay, just… hold on tight.”
That, I can do. I move my hands from his face to the broad, hard muscles of his back, digging my fingertips down into his skin to get a proper hold.
He takes a deep breath, kisses me once on the lips—so deeply, I see stars besides the ones up above me—and pushes hi
