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Nervousness and comfort. Headiness and happiness.

He glanced down, taking a moment to gauge where we fit, as if I might be constructed differently. Once he found that spot, his face hovered close to mine, his golden forelocks falling over my brows. I brushed them aside, and his knuckles brushed my cheek.

This was happening. The man, this real man saw a real girl—a woman. Not a puppet, or a distortion, or a fairytale.

I wanted more. I wanted him deep enough to forget himself, to remember himself. I wanted him to know thatIwas the one beneath him. Nobody else.

“Keep looking at me,” I breathed. “Keep watching me.”

He nodded. “I shall.”

We stared at each other. I felt my face unhinge, saw his own features unravel, as he slowly swung his hips between mine.

Just like that, he propelled himself into me. And just like that, his length filled a chasm. And just like that, we cried out.

And just like that, he withdrew.

And just like that, he thrust again.

Just. Like. That.

“Oh, Seasons,” he hissed against my mouth.

“Uh-huh,” I moaned against his.

The rhythm was terribly slow and painful, his backside snapping gently, my body jutting under him. He was no inexperienced lad. He was a man who’d been married, who’d done this countless times with his wife. So although it had been a while for Aire, my body felt him catching on quickly.

He kissed me, the cadence of our lips matching our movements. His hand gripped my hip, angling me for him, his thrusts striking a place that had us both careening. And it was so sweet, the precious slide of him inside me.

His lids fluttered, about to close, but I shook my head.

“No,” I panted, snatching his face. “Keep watching me, Aire. Keeping watching me. Watch me.”

“Aspen, I...I don’t...I don’t think...”

“Ido. Just watch me. Watch me.”

His back hunched, the calm strokes of his body, the controlled pivot of his hips, whipping us into a long-suffering frenzy. The tempo was alarming in consistency, but he persisted, and somehow, I endured.

With renewed dedication, he kept his eyes open, kept watching me, kept watching. He hefted himself up, his hands planted on either side of my head, taking in my reactions, making love steadily.

I whimpered, the pace agonizing. Like the kiss in the woods, he wasn’t done.

And he wasn’t done. And still he wasn’t done.

Our moans collided. I clutched onto his backside, because I was going to break apart. I was going to scream. And then his hips rushed forward at last, and my head flew backward, and I did scream.

And then, minutes later, I did it again.

And so did he. And his lips latched onto mine, swallowing the sounds.

Afterward we clung, catching our breaths. After that, he withdrew.

We trembled onto our sides and smiled, our fingers threading between us. Resting on our pillows, we whispered into the night, our hands wandering over each other. He tucked me into his arms, brushing his mouth across my hairline, telling me to rest.

I must have dozed, because I awakened to moonlight, the final licks of flame ebbing. Twisting toward Aire, I watched him sleep, the lazy blanket barely covering his waist.

His expression was serene. He had ridiculous eyelashes.