His fingers brush mine, and the simple contact sends warmth shooting up my arm. Focus, Laney. This is about helping him overcome a phobia, not about how his hands make your stomach do weird, fluttery things.
“Now watch.” I demonstrate the proper technique. “Firm but gentle pressure. Never grab or squeeze. Think of it like… petting a cat, but with more respect for boundaries.”
Jasper responds to my touch by shifting slightly, adjusting his coils but remaining calm. His brick-colored scales catch the light from the bedroom lamp, creating patterns that are genuinely beautiful if you can get past the primal fear response.
I continue the demonstration, showing him how to read Jasper’s responses, how to support his body weight properly, and how to recognize signs of stress or discomfort.
Through it all, Ryder focuses with the intensity of someone determined to overcome a deep-seated fear through sheerwillpower. I can see the battle playing out across his handsome face—logic versus instinct, courage versus millions of years of evolution.
“Your turn,” I say finally. “Start with just one finger. Right here, behind his head, where I showed you.”
Ryder’s hand hovers over Jasper for a long moment. The internal war is visible in every tense line of his body.
“I’ve got you,” I say softly, covering his hand with mine. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll handle it. But it won’t. He’s completely calm.”
The trust in his eyes when he looks at me is almost overwhelming. This male, who’s spent days taking care of me, protecting me, making sure I’m safe and warm and fed, is now trusting me to guide him through something that terrifies him on a cellular level.
His finger makes contact with Jasper’s scales, and I feel the tension rise in his whole body.
“Breathe,” I remind him, my hand still covering his. “He can sense your stress. Slow, steady movements.”
Gradually, Ryder’s touch becomes more confident. His finger traces the pattern of scales along Jasper’s neck, and fascination replaces fear in his expression.
“He’s so much warmer than I expected,” Ryder observes.
“That surprised me too, the first time I touched one. They regulate their temperature by basking. In the wild, it’d be sunlight; here we’re using heat lamps and warming rocks.”
“It’s not what I expected,” he murmurs. “The texture is… almost like leather, but warmer. More alive.”
“Exactly.” I guide his hand to support more of Jasper’s weight as the snake shifts position, my palm warm against Ryder’s knuckles. “See how he’s moving toward you? He’s actually curious about you now. You’re not giving off fear signals anymore.”
“Now use your whole hand,” I instruct, keeping my voice soft and steady. “Support his weight. Let him feel that you’re secure.”
Ryder follows my direction, his hand—so much larger than mine—sliding beneath Jasper’s body. The snake responds immediately, coiling partially around his forearm in what I recognize as contentment rather than constriction.
“That’s perfect,” I breathe, watching the way Ryder’s thumb moves in slow, steady passes along Jasper’s scales. The sight of them—this mountain of a firefighter and the smooth coil of muscle resting easily in his grip—makes me wonder what it would be like if that massive hand stroked me.
We work together for the better part of an hour, my hands guiding his, our bodies close in the small space beside the terrarium. Every time I adjust his grip, I’m aware of the warmth of his skin, the solid strength of him, the way his shoulderbrushes mine when he shifts position. It’s distracting in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Look at you! You make it look easy,” I whisper.
“This is incredible,” Ryder says as Jasper settles even deeper into his hold, completely relaxed. “I can feel every muscle. It’s like… controlled power.”
“Yes. He’s strong enough to hurt you, but he chooses not to. Trust goes both ways.”
The parallel isn’t lost on either of us. The quiet after that hums with something that’s not fear and not quite safety either—something tender, alive, and full of possibility. I can feel it in the space between our shoulders, in the way the lamplight glints off Jasper’s skin and warms the edges of Ryder’s smile.
As we settle Jasper back into his terrarium, my body is thrumming with awareness. The trust exercise has left us both a little breathless, the air between us charged with something I’m not ready to name but can no longer ignore.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “For being patient with me.”
When I turn to face him, we’re very close in the confined space. I can see the rapid pulse at his throat, feel the heat radiating from his skin. Suddenly I’m very aware that we’re alone in my bedroom, that he’s looking at me like…
“Ryder,” I whisper, and his name comes out with soft affection I don’t even try to hide.
We’re still sitting really close to each other as his gaze drops to my mouth. Or maybe we’re not close enough. My breathing has gone shallow, and when his gaze meets mine again, there’s heat there that makes my stomach flip.
“You affect me,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “More than you should, more than is smart, but I can’t help it.”
