His mouth drops open slightly.
“I’m extremely experienced. I’m practically an expert. I could probably teach a class.”
“Mackie.”
“I’ve had so much sex, Zach, you wouldn’t even believe?—”
“Mack.” His voice is so gentle it almost breaks me. He sits up and pulls me against him, which only rocks him deeper. I gasp. He groans, and I bury my face in his neck.
The blush spreads down to my collarbones. I squeeze my eyes shut fighting tears. “...Okay, fine. Yes. It’s my first time.”
He exhales, long and shaky, and drops his forehead against mine.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have—we could have gone slower, I would have done everything differently?—”
“Because I didn’t want you to stop!” It comes out louder than I mean it. “I thought you’d figure out I was just some inexperienced kid and I’d lose you. You already felt weird about my dad. If you knew I hadn’t done this before on top of everything else?—”
“Mackie.” He cups my face with both hands. “You really think that would make me want you less?”
“Wouldn’t it?”
“No. I just wish you’d told me so I could have been better for you.”
It’s so completely, perfectly Zach that I want to cry. The guy who ties your dress back together after being caught. The guy who bought condoms after the first date just in case. He would have spent an hour making sure I was ready if I’d let him.
“Can we start over?” he asks. “Can I try again?”
“We don’t have to start over.” I shift my hips, and we both groan. “Just go slow.”
He rolls us so I’m underneath him and starts moving, watching my face the whole time, adjusting when I flinch, pressing deeper when I arch into him. His thumb finds my clit and I make a startled sound because I wasn’t expecting it. He keeps his thumb there, circling, while he moves inside me.
“Better?” he asks against my mouth.
“Yeah.” It’s a lot better. The fullness is still there, but now there’s something building alongside it, warm and spreading. “Yeah, that’s—keep doing that.”
It’s not graceful. We’re both sweaty. The sheets are bunching up under me. At one point he slips out entirely and has to fumblebetween us to push back in, muttering “shit, sorry” against my neck while I laugh breathlessly. But it’s good. It’s so good. The weight of him, the sounds he’s making, his face in my neck so I can hear every grunt and gasp directly in my ear. I didn’t know it could feel like this: being completely overwhelmed and completely safe at the same time.
He’s not going to last. I can tell by the way his rhythm changes, the way he keeps whispering my name like he can’t help it.
“Mackie, I’m—” He tries to pull back, but I wrap my legs tighter.
“Inside. I want to feel it.”
He makes as almost wounded sound and then he’s coming, shaking apart on top of me. I feel him pulse inside me, a strange, intimate flutter that I’ve never felt before and didn’t know I wanted until right now.
He collapses, pinning me to the mattress, his face smashed into the pillow beside my head. I like the heaviness. His heart hammering against my chest. His breath hot and ragged by my ear. I press my lips to his shoulder because it’s there, and because I can.
We stay like that until my legs start to cramp and I tap his shoulder.
“Sorry.” He pushes up on his arms, looking down at me, dazed. “Sorry, I just?—”
“If you apologize one more time I’m going to smother you with this pillow.”
He laughs and pulls out carefully. I wince at the weird emptiness, and he notices immediately.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Just feels strange.” I gesture vaguely. “The after part.”
