He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her. The cushions shifted under his weight, bringing them close enough that her knee brushed his thigh through the blankets. She stilled, then lifted her cup to her lips, her fingers trembling lightly. Emil reached for the magazine, and his index finger grazed her palm. She didn’t pull away. Good. Progress. He took his time closing the magazine and setting it aside before turning back to her.
Her hand hadn’t moved, but her expression had shifted into one he recognized at once. The sight of it brushed aside his own unease and replaced it with something much stronger: the need to comfort her, to ease whatever troubled her, to let her know she was safe with him.
“Go on,” he said lightly. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you’re worrying about.”
She wrinkled her nose, adorably sheepish. “How did you know?”
“You have a few tells.” He leaned in, touching lightly between her brows. “A little furrow appears here.” His finger drifted down the curve of her cheek. “Sometimes you flush. Sometimes you pale.” Then he tugged gently at her ear, and her gaze snapped to his. “And you won’t look me in the eye.”
“I have trouble with that, sometimes.”
His lips quirked at her confessional tone. “I know. I don’t mind.” She smiled then, open and unguarded, and heat flared through him in response. Goddamn. Her smile unraveled him every time. “So go on.”
“No one wants to know what goes on inside my head.”
“I do.” When she shot him a doubtful look, he met it steadily. “If your tears didn’t scare me away, your fears certainly won’t.”
“Stop making valid arguments,” she huffed. “How am I supposed to say no to that?”
“You can’t. Just tell me one. The biggest one, the one that makes you hesitate the most and?—”
“Pregnancy,” she blurted out.
“Brave girl,” he murmured, and he watched, fascinated, as a blush bloomed up her neck. “That is a concern, but we can take measures to prevent it. I always wear a condom. Do you know what that is?” She nodded, her cheeks a bright rose. “It isn’t foolproof, but there are other ways. I can pull out. We can use a sponge.”
“You’d do all that for me?”
“Of course.” He glared at her. “Never let a man touch you who won’t do the bare minimum to protect you from unwanted pregnancy. Do you hear me, Olive?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But...doesn’t it feel strange?”
“A bit, but it’s worth it.” He leaned into the cushions, studying her carefully. Considering what she wasn’t saying. “Olive, we don’t have to have sex at all.”
Her face fell. “Oh, but I?—”
He snorted. “I meant penetrative sex. We can still share pleasure without risking pregnancy.”
Her relief was obvious. “Yes, I think that’s best for our first time.”
Our first time.
His stomach clenched at the inadvertent promise in her words. It sent a rush of relief through him, because he knew, before he’d even touched her for the first time, that it wouldn’t be enough. That he would want more. Need more. Need her.
“And Olive—” He reached over and cupped her cheek. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure you enjoy my touch. But if you don’t, for whatever reason, you tell me. I’ll stop at once. No argument. No hesitation.”
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “All right. Should we… go to the bedroom, or…?”
“Let’s stay here.”
Her brow furrowed. “On the sofa?”
The sofa was safer. It would keep him from wanting too much, too soon—from overwhelming her with everything he ached to give. The narrow space would force him to focus only on her, her comfort, her pleasure. And more than that, moving rooms might only give her more time to retreat into fear. Better to begin here, where she already felt at ease.
“Don’t I need to undress?”
