“Yes.”
“Say it back.”
“If anything doesn’t feel right, I’ll tell you. If I want to stop, you’ll stop.”
“Good. And we use protection. Non-negotiable.”
“Okay.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“We use protection. I agree.”
His gaze searches mine. “Nervous?”
“A little.”
“Good. Means you’re paying attention.” He pulls back enough to kiss my forehead. “I’m nervous too.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Because this matters. You matter.”
My throat tightens. “Cole?—”
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
“No.”
“Tell me if I can kiss you.”
“Yes. Please, yes.”
His mouth finds mine.
Soft at first. Careful. Testing.
I lean in, and he deepens it, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. The other anchors at my waist, pulling me flush against him.
He tastes like coffee. His beard rasps against my skin, and I shiver, not from cold this time.
I fist my hands in his flannel and pull him closer, needing more contact, more heat, more him.
He makes a sound low in his throat and stands, pulling me with him. “Bedroom.”
I nod.
He leads me down the hallway to the guest room. The bedding is messed up since I woke up wondering what was going on. Quickly, he straightens everything, pulls back the covers, and dims the lamp.
“Better,” he says. “I want to see you, but I want you to be comfortable.”
“Okay.”
He cups my face. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“Okay.” He kisses me again, slower this time. Thorough. Learning my mouth and my responses.
