Page 118 of Carousel

“It might hurt, your first time. But I can stop at any time. Just say.”

“I’m ready,” I promise.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No. Let’s stay like this. If we can.”

He nods and uncorks the vial. Quickly, he dabs some of the clear liquid on his fingers and then slips them inside me. The tonic tingles inside me quite pleasantly. I do feel wetter.

He kisses me more.

And then it’s happening. I’m being angled backwards slightly. There is no space left between our bodies, like our hearts might start syncing time with one another.

One hand around himself, one around my waist to keep me steady, he pushes in. I gasp.

The pressure being released feels like uncoiling a spring I didn’t know was coiled. He feels so deep in me. Fills me whole. Like I never should have been empty in the first place.

He’s moving. I do feel pain. But also, pleasure. I respond to him, my hips lifting. I thread one hand through his hair. I grasp his back with the other, digging my nails right into his skin.

A moan almost leaves my lips. Instinctively, I stop myself.

But he whispers, “You can be as loud as you want here.”

So, I am.

Then, I’m aware of other sensations. My whole body is tingling. Pain prickles up and down my arms. My head starts ringing, blocking out the sound of the waves and the gulls and even our heavy breaths.

I can’t fathom why I’d be getting the lingering blood magic symptoms right now. I feel so hot, like one more push and I could burst into flames.

He’s slowing down. His hand is flat against my neck.

“Are you okay, Ara? You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” I say breathily.

And it’s true. If anything, the pain is adding to the pleasure. The fire in my blood seems to heighten every sense. Colours around me are bursting. I can see every freckle on his face, the brown strands in amongst his copper hair. The tiny gold flecks in his big brown eyes, which are so perfect. They’re the colour of warm, freshly turned and watered soil in the growing season. The promise it brings.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

No. I don’t want that.

I pull him closer. Get myself straighter again. Move my hips over his in a way that gets my sensitive spot.

A white light is enveloping me.

I want you to feel the same pleasure I’m feeling.

I say it to him in my mind. Will it to be true.

And then he’s gasping, and his hands are in my hair.

“Fuck,” he says into my ear. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

We move as one, a push and pull that only seems to make us more breathless, wrap around each other tighter. When he reaches release, he collapses into me, and for a moment, everything is perfect.

But then he’s separating himself from me.

There’s a look that scares me on his face.