He folds his arms over his chest and quirks an eyebrow. He's hard now, made evident by the huge bulge in his shorts. I reach out to touch him there, but he pulls away.

"Luce, you get off and you only. I'm not playing."

Five minutes later, my shorts and panties are off and his mouth is exactly where I want him. My fingers curl on the bedspread under me. "Holy fuck, Cam."

He doesn't falter, not for a second. His fingers slide in and out, his mouth kisses, and his tongue licks. He started faster, more rushed. I asked him to slow down, so he did. And now—now he's perfect, bringing me to the edge twice, only to pull away smiling.

"Cam!"

And he starts again.

"You have to let me..." I breathe out.

The vibration of his response against my wetness has me squirming. He uses his forearm to hold down my stomach, keeping me in place.

My hips thrust forward, wanting more of him. And he gives it. Fuck, does he give it.

My back arches off the bed. I'm panting his name, over and over. He never stops. Not until the last wave hits me and my body collapses.

"I can't feel my legs," I moan. "Or my face."

I gaze down at him through heavy eyelids. He stands at the end of the bed, his hard-on tenting his pants. He picks up my discarded shirt and wipes his mouth. Then he looks at me. From my head, all the way down to my toes. He's never seen me fully naked before. His eyes trail back up as he licks his lips. "You're so fucking sexy, Lucy. I was so close to coming just from tasting you like that."

I sit up and pull his shorts down, freeing him completely. "I want to have sex, Cam. Please?"

I scoot up on the bed until my head hits the pillow, and then spread my legs for him. "I'm ready," I tell him, my voice coming out a whisper. And a ton of emotions hit me full force. I love him. I don't want to share this with anyone else, and I lie here, prepared for him. Waiting for him. While he stands at the end of the bed looking at me, fighting a war in his head.

I don't know why I waited so long, not when I've always been so sure of him. Of us.

"Please, Cameron."

He kicks off his shorts and climbs onto the bed and between my legs. "Lucy, I don't—"

"Do you love me?" I ask him.

He rests his forearms on either side of my head as his eyes scan mine. "You know I do."

"Then why are you hesitating?"

He shakes his head, then rests it on my shoulder, slowly dropping his hips so I can feel his hardness against me. "I didn't want it to be like this... in the heat of the moment. I wanted to make it romantic. You know, hotel room, candlelit dinner, open fireplace, rose petals and shit."

I take his head in my hands and lift it so he'll look at me. "I don't care about that stuff. I just want you."

He nods. "I'm nervous."

"I'm scared."

"Maybe we shouldn't."

"No, I want to."

He looks down my body, to where we're about to join. Leaning on one arm, he uses the other to position himself. I feel it where I think it should be, and I wait.

"Are you sure?" His voice breaks. "I don't want you to feel forced—"

I nod. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He kisses me, the taste of myself on his lips turning me on more. I push down a little, welcoming him.

"I love you so much, Luce," he says, pushing into me.

My eyes squeeze shut, trying to stop from groaning in pain when he fills me.

"Are you okay?" he whispers in my ears.

"Mm hmm," I answer—my eyes still closed to avoid the tears from falling. "Is that it?"

"No, babe, I'm not even half way."

I whimper. "Okay, just go. Do it. Get it over with."

"Lucy." His voice is shaky. "Maybe we're not ready. Maybe we—"

I let out a sob. It hurts so much and he's not even in yet.

"I can't do this, Luce, not when you're crying."

"No!" I press my hands firmly on his ass so he can't move.

He lifts his head, sniffing once. "Okay."

Then a pain so unbearable takes over my entire body. I scream so loud that it's surprising to my own ears.

"I'm so sorry," he says, his body shaking. "Shit shit shit."

He tries to pull out but I hold him in place. "I just need to get used to it," I cry out. "Just hold still for a moment."

"I can't, Lucy. You're fucking crying. I made you cry. This is not how I wanted this to go. This should've been perfect for you and I ruined it."

"Stop it," I whimper. "It is perfect, Cam. You're perfect. I just—"

"I hate this," he cuts in, wiping his eyes on my shoulder and refusing to look at me. "I can't keep going, Luce. Not like this."

I sniff back my tears, and I suck it up. Because this isn't just about me, it's about him, and I'm ruining it for both of us. "It doesn't hurt anymore," I lie. "Start moving."

He lifts his head, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, babe." I nod. "Just go slow, okay?"

"It won't take long, I—I promise." And then he moves. It hurts like hell, but I keep it in. I do my best to stay silent, to not wince in pain, to not beg him to stop.

"I love you, Lucy," he whispers, raising his eyes to mine—with so much emotion, so much heart—and for seconds that feel like hours, we stare at each other.

And then he kisses me, and we make love.

And it's perfect.

Just the way he wanted it.

-CAMERON-

After I came, she practically ran to the shower, and that's where she stayed for a good half hour. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. And now—she's crying in my arms and I'm lost. I'm so lost.

"I'm not crying because it hurts," she says, somehow reading my mind.

"Then why?" I whisper, scooting down on the bed and under the covers so we're face to face. "Tell me."

"Because I'm emotional." She sounds almost embarrassed. "I felt so much just now, with you inside me like that, and it was more than just physical. I don't..." She blows out a heavy breath. "I don't want you to share that with anyone else."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"I just don't want to think about the future, and if anything happens... it hurts so much to think that you could share something like that with someone else, something so pure, and intimate. I hate—"

"Stop." I cut in. I have no idea where any of this is coming from, but I don't question it, because if there's one thing I know from living with Mom, and being with Lucy, it's that women are dumb. "Do you think that I want that? That I'd want to be with other people?"

"I think eventually you—"

"You're wrong, Luce. So far from wrong it's not funny." I roll onto my back and contemplate what I'm about to tell her—because I know it's wrong for kids at seventeen to think about what I think. But I look at her now, with tears in her eyes, and I don't care. I tell her anyway, "I think about our future a lot. More than you want to know."