Phei settled between her thighs with deliberate care, the weight of his body held on his forearms so he could keep his eyes on hers—never breaking that fragile, electric connection.
The broad, slick head of his cock rested against her entrance, hot and pulsing, but he didn't push forward yet.
Instead, he lowered his forehead to hers, breathing her in—the faint jasmine of her skin, the warmer note of her arousal, the subtle salt of nervous tears she hadn't let fall.
His heart thundered against his ribs, not just from desire but from the overwhelming weight of what this meant: he was the first, the only one who would ever know her like this, and the responsibility of that trust humbled him to his soul.
"Sierra," he whispered, voice rough with something deeper than lust—raw, aching devotion. "Look at me, honey."
Her eyes—storm-gray, luminous, stripped of every defense—met his without flinching.
