The first press.
Not the thrust — the slow, first-entry pressure of the wide head against the resistance of a body that had never been entered. The stretching, gathering resistance of it — Celia's body understanding what was being asked of it and being asked too much and yielding anyway, slowly, yielding around something that had not been there before and was there now.
"Ahh—" The sound of the stretch — not pain yet, but the full, overwhelming pressure-sensation of more than she had ever felt. "It's — it's too—"
"Breathe," Nara said.
Celia breathed.
He pressed further.
PAH!
'!!!!'
Her back left the sand.
Not all the way — the involuntary arching of a spine that had received information it hadn't expected at the depth and width at which it arrived. Her fingers locked around Gia's arm.
"AANNGHH—!!"
