I just lie there, tucked into Will’s chest, listening to his breathing. His arm is draped around my waist, our legs a mess of skin and soft tension.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel wanted. But that fragile warmth is layered over the kind of vulnerability that comes after giving someone everything.
I shift slightly, and Will stirs behind me, his voice low, still sandpaper-rough with sleep.
“Mornin’, sugar.”
I smile into the pillow. “Morning.”
His fingers tighten at my hip, pulling me back against him.
For a long moment, we just lie there.
Breathing.
Feeling.
“Last night...” he starts, and his voice cracks a little.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I say before he can ask. “But I’m scared.”
He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder. “Me too.”
That’s the thing with Will. He doesn’t give easy comfort. But when he does give you something, it’s real.
“You okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing my skin.
I nod. “Sore. But okay.”
He shifts, his hand gliding down my bare thigh. “Want me to make you feel better?”
My breath catches.
I turn to face him, and his expression is quiet but full of heat.
“I want to take my time,” he says softly. “You gave me everything. Let me give something back.”
I bite my lip, heart pounding as I nod.
He kisses me, then trails his mouth down my throat, across my collarbone, down the soft slope of my stomach. Every kiss is a promise. Every pause, a question.
His hands part my thighs, gentle, grounding.
“You stop me if anything feels wrong,” he murmurs, looking up at me with that same fierce protectiveness that once made me fall for him in the first place.
I reach down, threading my fingers through his hair. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth finds me. Soft, teasing, then confident and sure.
And God, it’s nothing like I expected. Nothing like anything. Because he isn’t just doing this to make me feel good. He’s doing it like it’s an act of devotion.
Every slow stroke of his tongue is patient and purposeful, like he’s learning a language he wants to be fluent in. My hips lift, instinctive, and he holds me steady, mouth still moving, still worshipping. He hums low when I moan his name, the sound vibrating straight through me. And when I come apart, he stays there, hands grounding me, eyes never leaving my face.
When he finally kisses his way back up my body, I can barely breathe. He settles beside me, brushing the hair from my cheek.
“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.
I nod, still trembling. “Better than okay.”
