Chapter Seventeen: Her First Time

Marissa’s body was already warm when he touched her, but when he moved between her legs, the warmth deepened it turned molten. There was a weight to this moment, to her anticipation. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the quiet, steady hum of new.

She had never done this before. Not like this.

Her breath caught as Daniel’s palms traced slowly along her thighs, parting them with a reverence that felt like worship. His hands were large, firm, but never rough. He anchored her, steadied her.

He didn’t kiss her right away. He just looked at her, really looked. His eyes didn’t drift down between her legs, not yet. They stayed on her face, watching every flicker of emotion.

Marissa swallowed hard, her chest rising with a shallow breath.

Then she felt him. The slow, deliberate pressure of his cock against her. Not intrusive. Not urgent. Just present. Real.

She gasped.

She had been with women who used toys, and had used them herself. Toys that mimicked this shape, depth, even movement. She wasn’t unfamiliar with penetration. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t cold silicone or mechanical rhythm. He was warm. Alive. He moved with breath and intention.

She wouldn’t say it was better but it was different. A good sort of different. Grounded. Present. And when the sensation swept over her, she moaned. It was low, controlled, a sound of desire, not surrender. Not confusion. Just truth.

Her fingers traced along his back, first with a light touch, like drawing a boundary she already wanted him to cross. Then, when he moved just a little deeper, a little more confidently, her Nails sank in, not to hurt, but out of instinct.

“God,” she whispered, her voice husky, as her legs curled tighter around him, drawing him closer. Her breath hitched as they fell into a rhythm that was less about mechanics and more about mutual recognition.

Daniel grew more confident, it felt good to be desired. Lately with Sam, whenever they got around to sex, it had felt more routine, as if she was holding back. Of course he knew now why it was, she’d been seeing Olivia behind his back. Olivia, Marissa’s wife.

Perhaps it made this moment that much more meaningful. Both having been hurt had found each other? Or maybe they were just hurting and a little drunk and in need of another.

Either way, Daniel’s pace increased and he groaned low against her shoulder, each sound from her sending a fresh rush of hunger through him. He moved again, slower, then harder, finding the rhythm she responded to, chasing every breath that trembled from her lips.

“Do you like this,” he whispered.

Marissa might have been forgiven for being more demure, more shy about this. But she wasn’t. She knew who she was, and she smirked at him. “Don’t stop now,” she said.