"No, I want to."

He looks down my body, to where we're about to join. Leaning on one arm, he uses the other to position himself. I feel it where I think it should be, and I wait.

"Are you sure?" His voice breaks. "I don't want you to feel forced—"

I nod. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He kisses me, the taste of myself on his lips turning me on more. I push down a little, welcoming him.

"I love you so much, Luce," he says, pushing into me.

My eyes squeeze shut, trying to stop from groaning in pain when he fills me.

"Are you okay?" he whispers in my ears.

"Mm hmm," I answer—my eyes still closed to avoid the tears from falling. "Is that it?"

"No, babe, I'm not even half way."

I whimper. "Okay, just go. Do it. Get it over with."

"Lucy." His voice is shaky. "Maybe we're not ready. Maybe we—"

I let out a sob. It hurts so much and he's not even in yet.

"I can't do this, Luce, not when you're crying."

"No!" I press my hands firmly on his ass so he can't move.

He lifts his head, sniffing once. "Okay."

Then a pain so unbearable takes over my entire body. I scream so loud that it's surprising to my own ears.

"I'm so sorry," he says, his body shaking. "Shit shit shit."

He tries to pull out but I hold him in place. "I just need to get used to it," I cry out. "Just hold still for a moment."

"I can't, Lucy. You're fucking crying. I made you cry. This is not how I wanted this to go. This should've been perfect for you and I ruined it."

"Stop it," I whimper. "It is perfect, Cam. You're perfect. I just—"

"I hate this," he cuts in, wiping his eyes on my shoulder and refusing to look at me. "I can't keep going, Luce. Not like this."

I sniff back my tears, and I suck it up. Because this isn't just about me, it's about him, and I'm ruining it for both of us. "It doesn't hurt anymore," I lie. "Start moving."

He lifts his head, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, babe." I nod. "Just go slow, okay?"

"It won't take long, I—I promise." And then he moves. It hurts like hell, but I keep it in. I do my best to stay silent, to not wince in pain, to not beg him to stop.

"I love you, Lucy," he whispers, raising his eyes to mine—with so much emotion, so much heart—and for seconds that feel like hours, we stare at each other.

And then he kisses me, and we make love.

And it's perfect.

Just the way he wanted it.

-CAMERON-

After I came, she practically ran to the shower, and that's where she stayed for a good half hour. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. And now—she's crying in my arms and I'm lost. I'm so lost.

"I'm not crying because it hurts," she says, somehow reading my mind.

"Then why?" I whisper, scooting down on the bed and under the covers so we're face to face. "Tell me."

"Because I'm emotional." She sounds almost embarrassed. "I felt so much just now, with you inside me like that, and it was more than just physical. I don't..." She blows out a heavy breath. "I don't want you to share that with anyone else."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"I just don't want to think about the future, and if anything happens... it hurts so much to think that you could share something like that with someone else, something so pure, and intimate. I hate—"

"Stop." I cut in. I have no idea where any of this is coming from, but I don't question it, because if there's one thing I know from living with Mom, and being with Lucy, it's that women are dumb. "Do you think that I want that? That I'd want to be with other people?"

"I think eventually you—"

"You're wrong, Luce. So far from wrong it's not funny." I roll onto my back and contemplate what I'm about to tell her—because I know it's wrong for kids at seventeen to think about what I think. But I look at her now, with tears in her eyes, and I don't care. I tell her anyway, "I think about our future a lot. More than you want to know."

"Yeah?" she asks, a hint of a smile forming. "What do you think about?"

She sits up in front of me, removing the covers from both of us, and crosses her legs. I do the same, and lace our fingers together. "I think about marrying you, Lucy, and having a lot of kids."

She laughs quietly, her tears almost gone. "How many kids?"

"Well, at least four," I tell her honestly. "Four girls. Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy."

She gasps quietly. "Like in Little Women?" she says, her voice coming out high, like a little girl.

I nod. "Uh huh."

"You read the book?"

Shaking my head with a grimace, I reply, "I watched the movie."

She laughs, before shuffling closer to me. So close, she's straddling me. "What else?"

"I'd want a couple boys at least. You know, so I'm not surrounded by crazy."

I watch as her head throws back in laughter. "You're lying," she says.

"I'm not. I've even designed the house we live in. I figure your dad can build it for us. It won't be for a while but—"