You were already trembling before he even touched you.
Not because you were scared of him—never him. If anything, you were trembling because it was him. Because no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like you were made of glass and starlight. Like he'd wait a thousand lifetimes just to see you feel good once.
His hand cupped your cheek, and his eyes searched yours. “Still want this?” he asked, low and careful.
You nodded, voice caught in your throat.
But Matt wasn’t letting you rush. He kissed your forehead, your nose, the corner of your mouth. “Say it, baby,” he murmured. “You don’t have to prove anything. I’ll hold you all night without doing a thing, you know that, right?”
“I want you,” you whispered, and your voice cracked with how much you meant it. “I want it to be you.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time—soft but certain—and let his weight settle gently over you. His hands never rushed. They explored like they had all the time in the world, which they did. He dragged his fingers down your ribs, memorizing the way your breath hitched. He worshiped the places that made you shiver, the little sounds you made, the way your thighs clenched when he whispered into your skin.
When he finally started to press into you, you gasped—tight, overwhelmed, already on the verge of tears. It hurt, just a little, but it was more pressure than pain. Still, your hand reached for his instinctively.
Matt caught it without hesitation, lacing his fingers with yours and holding them above your head, anchoring you.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your jaw. “I’ve got you. We’re not rushing anything. Just breathe.”
Your chest heaved with the effort, but you nodded—desperate, trusting, wanting him.
He went slow. So slow. Not even halfway in before he paused, kissing your cheek, whispering that you were doing so good, that you looked so beautiful, that he could cry with how much he loved you like this.
And when he bottomed out, and you finally felt all of him, your back arched, tears spilling quietly from the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from fullness. From how much it was. The stretch, the intimacy, the weight of it all.
Matt kissed those tears away.
“Too much?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. “Want me to stop?”
“No,” you breathed. “Just… just hold me.”
And he did.
He stayed buried inside you, hand still gripping yours, body pressed against yours, and just held you. Let your body settle around him. Let you feel everything—the overwhelming fullness, the heat, the way your breath caught every time he whispered your name.
It was slow. It was steady. When he finally moved, it was just a slow grind of his hips, so deep and unhurried it sent goosebumps over your skin.
“You’re taking me so well, baby,” he whispered, lips at your ear. “So perfect. Can’t believe this is real.”
Your body responded without thinking—clenching around him, soft moans slipping out of you without permission.
And Matt noticed everything.
“That’s it,” he praised, voice thick. “Let go, baby. I’m here. I’m right here. You don’t have to do anything but feel me.”
Every stroke sent sparks through you. Not rough—never rough—but deep, slow, constant. You didn’t even realize you were crying again until he kissed the tear-tracks and said, “I know. I know it’s a lot. That’s okay. You’re safe.”
Your body started shaking, heat pooling low in your belly as the pressure built steadily, the kind of slow, dizzy pleasure that made your toes curl and your head spin. You whimpered his name like a prayer.
“Shh, that’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re so good for me,” he whispered, brushing his lips across your collarbone. “So tight, so sweet. You gonna come just from this? From how deep I am? Huh?”
You nodded desperately, your free hand digging into his back. “Please. I—Matt, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he cooed, moving a little faster now, still controlled, still careful. “I’ve got you. Come for me. Let me feel it. Show me how good it feels.”
You came with a soft cry, body trembling, every nerve lit up as he coaxed you through it, still whispering the sweetest, filthiest things into your ear. Telling you how tight you were, how beautiful, how he’d never get enough of the way you wrapped around him like you were made for him.
And through it all, he never stopped holding your hand.
Even when he finally let go, chasing his own release with a shaky groan of your name, he held you through it. Kissed your temple. Praised you through every twitch, every sigh, every aftershock.
“You did so good, baby,” he whispered against your skin, letting your bodies melt together in the afterglow. “So good for me. I’ve never felt anything like that.”
You clung to him, overwhelmed but safe. Loved. Yours.
He pulled the blankets over you both, wrapped you up in his arms like he was afraid you’d disappear, and whispered, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” over and over until your breathing slowed and your world finally settled.
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