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Holy shit. The sting hurts so good. It hurts better than I imagined. All the stories I’ve heard about this moment are nonsensical. They said it would hurt like you want to die or cry, and I do want to cry, but for an entirely different reason than pain. Like how ethereal it feels, how full, how deep and right. Nate doesn’t seem to share my thoughts, because he freezes, like completely, even though he’s breathing harshly and heavily. And his eyes, the color of darkness, widen a little as they stares into mine. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His curses start low, then grow in volume. “You’re a virgin?” “I don’t think I am anymore.” “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, Gwyneth?” “I didn’t believe it mattered.” “Of course, it fucking matters. I wouldn’t have fucked you against the wall for your first time. I would’ve been gentle.” “I don’t like it gentle.” I stroke the strand of hair that’s fallen over his forehead. “I like it exactly the way you do—rough and unapologetic.” “You don’t even know what the