His smile is slow, satisfied. "Because it made you feel seen?"
"Yes."
"Anything you didn't like?"
I think. "No. Everything felt... right."
"Then we'll build on that." He stands, starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Take off your sweater."
I do, hands shaking slightly. Underneath I'm wearing a thin tank top, nothing fancy.
"You're thinking too much," he observes, shrugging out of his shirt. "I can see it."
"How do you know?"
"You get this little crease between your eyebrows." He traces it with his finger. "Stop worrying so much." He cups my breast through my tank top, thumb brushing across my nipple until it peaks. "And I'm going to enjoy every ounce of you."
A whimper escapes my throat.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me hear you."
His hands are everywhere all at once. Gentle but firm, learning my body with the same methodical focus he applies to everything. When he finally strips away my tank top, exposing me to his gaze, I have to fight the urge to cover myself.
"Don't," he says softly, catching my wrists. "Let me look at you."
I do, trembling slightly as his eyes trace over me. The hunger in his expression makes me feel powerful and vulnerable all at once.
"Perfect," he says finally. "Absolutely perfect."
Then his mouth is on my skin. He kisses my neck and my collarbone. I moan when his lips brush against the swell of my breast. Each kiss, lick and nip is deliberate, purposeful, designed to unravel me. When he takes my nipple into his mouth, I arch off the bed with a gasp.
"Sensitive," he notes, doing it again.
"Yes—oh—god?—"
"Good." His hand slides down my stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of my leggings. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Don't stop."
He strips the leggings away, leaving me just in boxer shorts I’d found in the drawer in the bedroom of the lodge. Men’s boxers, too big for me. Plain cotton, practical, nothing like the lace and silk I wish I was wearing.
"These are mine," he says with a laugh. “And damn do you look good wearing my underwear. But they're in my way."
He hooks his fingers under the waistband, pulls them down slowly. "Spread your legs for me," he orders and God help me, I do. I obey willingly. My heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
He settles between my thighs, hands running up the inside of my legs, spreading me wider. "So pretty," he murmurs. "And so ready for me."
When his fingers finally touch me where I'm aching, I nearly come apart. He explores me with patience. His finger circles my clit, flicking and pressing into me. He learns what makes me gasp and what makes me moan.
"Please," I breathe.
"Please what?"
"More—I need?—"
"I know what you need. I will always know what you need, Holly." He slides a finger inside me, slow and careful, watching my face. "This?"
"Yes—"
