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He hesitates. His hands go to the buckle and stop.

“Holt.”

“I’m not built like a man anymore,” he says quietly. “Not all of me.”

“Show me anyway.”

So I do it myself. I unbuckle his belt, pop the button, and ease his wet pants and boxers down over his hips, and he lets me.

His cock springs free, and I just stare.

He’s huge, which I expected. I didn’t expect the rest of him. He’s darker green here, smooth and heavy, with a row of thick ridges running along the underside, spaced like the frets on a guitar neck. The head is broad, flushed, and already slick. At the base, he’s thicker still.

I wrap my hand around him. Or I try. My fingers don’t close.

He hisses through his teeth and nearly jumps off the cot.

“Well,” I say. “That’s going to be a project.”

He makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.

I look up. “Stop worrying about your size. I’m not scared. I want it all because I want you.”

He goes very still. Then he cups my face in his hand, his thumb on my cheek.

“Nobody has ever said that to me,” he says roughly. “Not since I changed. Not once.”

“Well, get used to it.” I turn my head and kiss his palm. “I plan on saying it a lot.”

I stroke him once, slow, all the way from the ridges to the tip, and his whole body shudders. His eyes close. The hum starts up in his chest again, rough and ragged.

“I’ve wanted you since the day you fixed that fence in the dark,” I tell him. “I picked this. I’m choosing you, Holt. All of you.”

He opens his eyes. Whatever he sees in my face makes the hum grow louder.

He lays me back on the cot and climbs over me, careful to keep his weight on his arms. He’s so big that he blocks out the fire, and his heat radiates down my body. He settles between my thighs, my good leg hooked over his hip and my injured leg stretched out to the side, and the blunt head of his cock kisses my entrance.

I expect him to ease inside, but instead, he slips a hand down between us and finds my clit with his thumb, circling it slowly and steadily until I’m panting and arching up off the cot.

“Holt. Please.”

“Not until you’re ready.” His voice is strained. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m ready. I’m so ready.”

“Not yet.” He drags the broad, blunt head of his cock through my folds, slow and deliberate, painting himself with how wet I am. “I want you dripping for me first.”

Oh my God.

He keeps going, gliding over my clit and back down again, his thumb circling, until I’m so slick I can hear it, shaking on the edge and begging. Actual begging. I don’t even recognize my own voice.

“There she is,” he growls. “Now you’re ready.”

He notches himself at my entrance and sinks into me, slow as honey.

His head stretches me wide, and I gasp. It’s a lot. It’s so much. He stops right there, waiting, his whole body trembling with the effort as he watches my face.

“Breathe,” he says.