I don't know how to answer that.Don't know how to put into words what I'm feeling.So I show him instead.
I kiss him hard, my hands going to his shirt, pulling it up and over his head.He's all muscle and scars, and I want to know the story behind every one of them.
But not now.Now I just want to feel.
He stands, pulling me up with him, and walks me backward toward the bedroom.We're kissing the whole way, hands everywhere, and by the time we get to the bed, I'm shaking.
Not from fear.From want.
He lays me down and covers my body with his, and the weight of him feels right.Safe.
"You sure about this?"he asks for the third time.
"Yes.Stop asking."
"If you need me to stop—"
"I'll tell you.I promise."
He nods, but I can see the concern in his eyes.He's terrified of hurting me.
"Timothy."I cup his face."You're not him.You could never be him.Okay?"
"Okay."
He kisses me again, slower this time, and his hands start working on my clothes.Shirt first.Then my bra.Then my jeans.
I should feel exposed.Vulnerable.
But I don't.
Because the way he's looking at me, like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, makes me feel powerful.
"You're gorgeous," he says.
"You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it to be nice.I'm saying it because it's true."His hands skim over my body, touching everywhere, and I gasp."Every inch of you is perfect."
His hand slides down my ribs, over my hip.Pauses."Okay?"he asks.
"Yeah."But my heart is racing.He must feel it.
"We can stop."
"No.I want this.Just...give me a second."I close my eyes.Breathe.This is Timothy.Not Randall.Timothy, who stopped when I asked.Who's asking permission for everything.
"Okay," I say."I'm okay."
“Are you sure?”
"Timothy."
"Yeah?"
"Stop talking and touch me."
He grins."Yes, ma'am."
