“You can move,” I wheeze, my body caught in an inky abyss of pain and pleasure. “I’m…I’ll be okay.”
He pulls his hips back a fraction before shifting them forward. His thrusts are slow, gentle, deliberate. He’s more worried about my discomfort than he is his orgasm. That alone tells me that giving him my V-card was the right decision.
“Podría quedarme dentro de tipara siempre.” Mateo brushes my hair from my face. “I could stay inside you forever.”
The emotion behind his words sends my heart tumbling down into my belly.
Even as sweat beads his brow, his thrusts remain slow and steady. Little zips of pleasure spark through me as he rubs my clit.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “I wanted to make you come, but I’m not going to last.”
Mateo’s rhythm falters as he swells within me. I sigh as his release fills me.
Oh. God. Oh, no.
He murmurs sweet nothings into my ear as he pulls out of me, but my mind is suddenly a million miles away.
“Are you okay?” he asks, worry etched into his every feature. “Did I hurt you?”
“We…um…a condom.”
His brow furrows as realization dawns. “Fuck. Seraphine. I—I’m so sorry. I should have made sure.” He stands and paces alongside the bed. “You entrusted me with something so precious and I didn’t even think to protect you!”
“Mateo.” His name leaves my lips on a soft cry.
In a flash, he’s back on the bed, hefting me onto his lap. “Are you on birth control?”
I shake my head as panic dots my vision. He’s going to hate me…he’s going to be so mad. I bet he regrets ever—
“Get out of your head, mariposita. If anyone here is to blame, it is me. I failed you and I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault; it’s our fault.”
Mateo holds me against his chest and strokes my hair. “It’ll be okay.”
I sniffle. “What if—”
He tilts my head up and captures my lips in a kiss so tender it makes my insides feel like jelly. “Come what may, Seraphine, we will be fine.”
“Are…are you sure?” I ask, because how could he possibly mean that?
“Eres mi vida,” he whispers so quietly I’m not sure if he even really spoke at all.
“What?”
“Nada—it is nothing for you to worry about.” He moves me from his lap to the mattress and stands. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He takes my hand in his and ushers me into the bathroom. I’m grateful for his guidance, because my mind is currently like the ball in a pinball machine—it’s rocketing around, bouncing violently off every what-if imaginable.
He releases my hand and kneels in front of the tub. I tie my hair up into a bun as he starts a bath, adding a healthy squeeze of his own bodywash for bubbles. “In you go,” he quietly orders.
The warm water soothes my skin and the scent of his soap tickles my nose and calms the ricocheting thoughts of my brain.
“Can I wash you?”
His question surprises me, but I guess it shouldn’t; Mateo is a gentleman through and through.
“Sure.”
He grabs another washcloth and wets it before squirting a dollop of his bodywash onto it. With a softness that belies his size, he washes me from head to toe, taking special care between my legs.
“Are you sore?” he asks when I wince.
“Only a little.”
He looks troubled at the thought of me being in pain—even if it is minimal and oh-so-worth it. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t have any regrets.”
As soon as the words leave my lips, the truth of them settles over me. Even though we didn’t use protection, I have no regrets. Sure, it was a reckless mistake and could have some pretty intense consequences, but Mateo said we would be okay no matter what, and maybe it makes me foolish, but I believe him.
“Tonight, what you gave me,” he says, “was a gift. Thank you.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of me. Under your touch, I feel cherished, loved even.” My cheeks heat. “Not that I’m saying you love me or anything, just that—oh, God. Talk about ruining a good night.”
I cover my face with my hands and contemplate sinking under the water to hide.
“Hey, no.” Mateo pulls my hands away from my flaming cheeks. “Don’t hide from me.”
“I am so embarrassed.”
“Why?” He truly sounds puzzled.
“Because I…I implied you love me!”
Just like in the parking lot at my father’s funeral, he skims his index knuckle down beneath my jaw to my chin and tilts my gaze up to his. “Because I do—I do love you, mariposita.”
Slack-jawed, all I can do is stare.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” His lips tilt up into a teasing grin.
“I…you love me?” I search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception. But they’re as open and honest as ever. “You really love me.”
“Sí, I do.”
I swallow roughly as happy tears wet my cheeks. “I love you, too.”