“Yeah, but don’t some guys practice?”

Jackson laughs. “Some guys probably do when they’re younger, but I never did.”

In the dim light of his bedroom, I watch Jackson Jennings—a big, beautiful beast of a boy—set the condom on the tip of his penis and slowly roll it down. He sucks on his bottom lip in concentration as he does it, nostrils flaring.

I love that. So sexy.

When the rubber is entirely covering his, um, dick—our eyes meet. Somewhat bashful. Shy. Then I do the only thing I know to do; I lie flat on the bed, on my back, and motion him over so he’ll crawl on top of me.

Spread my legs when he gingerly covers my body with his. I drag his head down with the palm of my hand and kiss him soundly on the mouth. The kiss is deep, wet, tongues twirling in a sloppy tangle.

Jackson is hard, hanging stiffly between our bodies. His erection brushes my pussy but doesn’t push.

I spread my legs wider, ready.

Ever vigilant, his thumb finds the top of my clit and moves in slow circles while our tongues dance, the motion getting me soaked. Has me tossing my head back and presenting him with the column of my throat that loves lips on it.

He obliges at the same time he drags his cock back and forth over my best bits.

Reaching between us, I grip him with my entire hand, pumping leisurely to keep him aroused—as if I need to. Which I don’t, because he’s so turned on he can barely breathe normally. Labored. Rasping.

Harsh.

Yes, his breathing is harsh, like he can’t catch his breath and isn’t trying to. Sexy, sexy, sexy.

As a big boy himself, Jackson’s dick is obviously huge—not so big it’s intimidating, but bigger than the only guy I’ve ever had sex with. Naturally I expect it to hurt when he eases in, despite the fact that I’m lubed up from foreplay.

I slide his erection up and down, up and down while he watches me, tension gripping his entire body. Shoulders taut. Back rigid. Ass flexed. Thighs tight.

He’s frozen above me.

“You sure you want to do this?” I ask as gently as I possibly can, not wanting to spook him, not wanting him to change his mind and not…well, fuck me.

I want him to fuck me, so hard.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Perspiration forms on his brow; I can see it glistening.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

He looks skeptical. “But you’re so tiny.”

I stifle a laugh.

“I’m not, though.” I carry a few extra pounds, which I’ve never cared about, and I’m certainly no delicate flower, not as fragile as he seems to think I am. No other guy has made me feel small and delicate before, and I relish how petite I feel lying under Jackson.

He blows out a puff of air, his bangs blowing back. Braces himself above me, finally lowering his hips. Pelvis.

Pushes a bit.

I line him up, making sure he’s heading for the right hole. Guiding to avoid a catastrophe and embarrassment for both of us.

The head is thick and throbbing.

I tip my pelvis up, wordlessly helping him out. Giving him the access he needs to confidently push forward and penetrate me.

Penetrate me.

I giggle nervously; what a stupid word to have in your head when you’re about to be penetrated.

I laugh again.

Oh my god, shoot me now.

“You little brat.” Jackson kisses me full on the mouth, pushing forward, easing in.

Another few centimeters. More.

More.

He pushes in another inch before stopping. “Holy fuck you’re tight.”

“Am I?”

I swear his brows go up. “Aren’t you?”

I am. It’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I swear my vagina went and closed back up from being out of commission.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

I preen, happy that I’m able to make him feel good, happy his first time is with me and it’s going to be memorable for both of us, because we’re in love.

Jackson groans when he buries himself to the hilt, sucking in an audible breath and moaning, “Fuck. Oh my fucking god.”

He grunts, letting his head drop, a bead of sweat hitting my bare chest. I run a hand through his hair at the same time I adjust my hips on the bed, making more room for him between my legs.

He takes up every inch of me, inside and out, a monolith of strength and power about to begin pumping in and out of my body.

I know it’s coming—I remember how it goes—but Jackson is slow and doesn’t thrust like I expect him to. Slowly—so slowly it almost kills me—he pulls out. Slides back in. Slowly slides back out. The speed—or lack thereof—with which he glides in and out is going to kill us both.

Instead of groaning like he did before, it’s almost like he’s holding his breath. Measures every motion, committing it to memory. Every action deliberate.

The sides of his hips flex. Ass, too, and I put my hands on his butt cheeks and squeeze. It’s a glorious ass, rock hard and strong. A squatter’s ass. Ass, ass, ass…

In.

Out.

Painfully. Slow.

I want to die.

Run my nails down his backside in an attempt to encourage more speed; he doesn’t comply. He wants to take his time, second by second, studying the movement of his own body tucked intimately within mine.

It’s excruciating.

Bliss.

“Charlotte,” he whispers. “God, Charlotte.” Crooning into my ear, kissing my temple as he rhythmically thrusts.

Jackson’s first go at sex isn’t sex at all—it’s making love. At least, I think he’s making love to me, and I want to pinch myself.

He goes on like this for a few minutes. The fact that he hasn’t come yet has me baffled; I assumed that because he was a virgin, he wouldn’t last longer than three minutes. I realize this isn’t giving him any credit, but how much stamina can a guy actually have when he hasn’t had his dick in anyone’s vagina?

I wouldn’t last this long if I were him.

I’m also not close to coming, so I give his chest a push, wanting and needing to be on top. When I was younger, I once read a magazine article about the statistics of the female orgasm, and seventy-five percent of women can only orgasm on top.

All right, I probably made that up, but the number is high, and I, for one, am among that percentage of girls who can’t climax on the bottom. That I’m aware of.

Jackson stops. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. But…” I hesitate. “Can I be on top?”

His beautiful blue eyes widen and he rolls, taking me along for the ride, our bodies still connected.

Whoa. I’ve only seen that done in the movies.

Sexy.

“Scoot up closer to the headboard,” I tell him bossily.

“Yes ma’am.”

I sit up, arching my back, leaning forward a bit, hands grabbing hold of the headboard. It’s wooden, an inch or two from the wall, and easy to grip.

Finding my rhythm, I ease back and forth over his body, pelvis automatically grinding into his. Watching as he lies there, looking up at me with a look of wonder on his face, the nonverbals playing over his eyes and mouth in flashes.

Jackson’s lips part when I rotate my hips in circles, hands pressed against the headboard. Bearing down. Operating solely on instinct, I try to pretend I know what I’m doing when in reality, I don’t. He might be the virgin, but it’s not like I have all that much more experience.