She watches me looking at her, and there's vulnerability in her eyes now.Not shame.But rawness.Like she's letting me see all of her, not just the strong parts.
"You're staring," she says quietly.
"Can't help it."I step closer, tracing the scar across her ribs with my fingertips."Every mark tells a story.Want to know all of them."
"That might take a while."
"Good.I'm not going anywhere."
She shivers under my touch.Her hands find my shirt, tugging."Your turn."
I pull it off, and her breath catches.She reaches out, fingers trailing over the shrapnel scars on my chest, the burn mark on my shoulder, the surgical scar on my side.
"We match," she says softly."Warriors."
"Yeah.We do."
She leans in and presses her lips to the worst scar—the one that ended my career.The touch is gentle, reverent.Like she's kissing the wound, accepting it.
Something in my chest cracks open.
I frame her face with both hands and kiss her.Slow.Deep.Trying to pour everything I feel into it.She melts against me, and we're shedding the rest of our clothes between kisses, fumbling and urgent.
When we're finally bare, I walk her backward to the bed.We sink down together, and for a moment we just look at each other.
"I'm scared," she admits.
"Of this?"
"Of losing this.Losing you."Her voice cracks."I just got you."
"You're not losing me."I brush her hair back."I'm yours.For as long as you'll have me."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She pulls me down into another kiss, and this time there's no hesitation.She's opening for me, inviting me in, and I'm lost.
I map her body with my hands—the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the strong muscles of her thighs.She's all lean strength and soft skin, contradictions that make me want to learn every inch.
When my mouth finds her breast, she arches up with a gasp.I take my time, discovering what makes her whimper, what makes her nails dig into my shoulders.
"Timothy."My name is a plea.
"Tell me what you need."
"You.Just you."
I kiss my way down her stomach, and when I reach the apex of her thighs, I pause.Look up at her.
She's watching me, chest heaving, eyes dark with want.
"Please," she breathes.
I spread her open with my thumbs and taste her.She's already wet, already wanting, and the sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
I take my time this round—no rush, just slow, deliberate attention.Learning her rhythm, finding what makes her hips roll, what makes her thighs shake.When she's close, I ease back, drawing it out.
