Page 118 of Ricardo

She is a goddess, sprawled out on a makeshift altar before me.

I take my cock in my hand and guide it to her entrance, rubbing the head against her slick folds.

A soft cry escapes her lips. "Ricardo, wait."

My body freezes, every muscle coiling tight. Her words, so soft, are a splash of ice water on the fire roaring between us. My hand stills, my cock poised at her entrance.

For a terrifying second, I think he is back in the room with us. That I have pushed too hard, too fast, and her past has risen up to reclaim her.

I search her face, my own a mask of careful neutrality, bracing for the shame, the fear, the hesitation I saw before. "What is it, Julia?"

Her face flushes as her eyes drop to where my body is connected to hers, at the very brink of joining. "I don't..." she whispers hoarsely.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She clears her throat, then tries again. "You're... really big," she finally manages to say, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "And I don't know if..."

A choked, breathy laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It’s not a laugh of mockery, but of relief. A release of tension so sharp it feels dizzying. Not rejection. Not fear of memory. Just a practical, logistical concern.

And, I admit, a sliver of pure, male pride.

Her eyes fly up to mine, a flash of hurt in their depths. "Don't laugh at me."

My laughter dies instantly. I lean down, bracing my weight on my forearms, my body hovering over hers, and press a soft, gentle kiss to her lips.

"I'm not laughing at you, preziosa," I murmur against her skin. "I'm laughing in relief. I thought you were having second thoughts." I pull back just enough to look her in the eye. "And thank you."

Her mouth drops open. "It wasn't a compliment. It's a legitimate concern."

"One that will be addressed, I can assure you," I say, lowering my head to trail my lips along her jaw.

"I'm serious, Ricardo," she insists. "Harrison wasn't—"

"That is the only comparison to him that I find acceptable," I say, my lips now on her throat, my tongue darting out to taste her pulse.

"You're impossible," she says, pushing my chest lightly, but there's no real force in it.

"Sì," I admit as I kiss her collarbones. "But I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you."

I don't have to say, 'Not like him.' She knows.

I settle myself between her legs again. "I will do nothing until you are good and ready for it. You will accommodate me, I promise you that. And if it's too much, you tell me to stop, and we will stop. Capiche?"

A slow, shaky breath leaves her, and she gives a small nod.

"Okay?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I don't move to enter her yet. Instead, I lean down and kiss her. It’s slow and deep, a kiss meant to soothe and reassure.

As I kiss her, I shift my hips, not to press inside her, but to rub against her. My cock slides through her slick folds, the head bumping against her clit with each pass.

Her breath hitches.

"Feel that?" I murmur against her lips. "Feel how you're getting ready for me?"

A soft moan is her only reply.