"I want you," she said, the words simple and devastating and absolutely final. "I want to feel you. I want to remember what it's like when someone touches me because they want to, not because they're trying to hurt me or control me or make me small."
My hands found her waist automatically, steadying her even though she wasn't the one who felt unsteady anymore. She was a live wire under my palms, all coiled energy and determination, and I was the one struggling to keep my feet.
"You're sure?"
"Very sure." She rose on her toes, mouth finding mine in a kiss that started soft and turned hungry fast. Her teeth caught my lower lip, tugging just hard enough to make my breath catch. "Please, Gideon. Let me have this."
Let her have this.
Like I could deny her anything when she asked like that, when her body pressed against mine and her breath hitched and her fingers dug into my shoulders like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to shake her loose.
Like I could deny myself this—her wanting me, choosing me, using me to reclaim what Sam Jarrow's shadow had tried to steal.
"Okay," I murmured against her mouth. "But we go slow. You set the pace."
"Deal." She kissed me again, deeper this time, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my pulse kick hard and my hands tighten on her waist. "Now get me out of this hoodie."
I pulled back just enough to tug the hoodie over her head, and the T-shirt she wore underneath was thin enough that I could see the outline of her bra, the shadow of her nipplespressing against the fabric. My mouth went dry. My hands remembered the weight of her breasts from before, the way she'd gasped when I'd touched her, the perfect give of her skin under my palms.
"Beautiful," I said, because it was true and because she needed to hear it and because I needed to say it before I lost the ability to form words.
Her cheeks flushed pink, that gorgeous color that started at her throat and climbed all the way to her hairline. "You say that a lot."
"Because it's true a lot." I traced the line of her collarbone with my thumb, watching goosebumps rise on her skin like a map I was learning to read. "Every time I look at you, actually."
She made a sound—half laugh, half something more desperate—and pulled me toward the bed. We fell together, her back hitting the mattress, me bracing above her on my forearms so I wouldn't crush her. For a moment we just looked at each other, breathing hard, the weight of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours pressing down on us like atmosphere before a storm.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi yourself."
She smiled, and it was real, and something in my chest cracked open wider. I kissed her again, slow and deep, taking my time now that we were horizontal and she was under me where I could protect her from everything except the pleasure I was going to give her.
This was supposed to be gentle. Careful. A reminder that touch could be good, that her body was her own, that I would never take more than she wanted to give.
But Hazel had other ideas.
She arched up into me, her hips rolling in a way that made my vision blur at the edges. "Gideon," she said, voice breathy but demanding. "More."
I tried to slow her, my hands gentle on her waist. "Easy. We've got time."
"No." She grabbed my wrists, guiding my hands to her breasts, pressing them there firmly. "I don't want easy. I want you. Now."
Her nipples were hard under my palms, even through the fabric, and the sound she made when I squeezed—soft, needy—nearly undid me. I kissed her neck, her jaw, trying to keep the pace reverent, but she wasn't having it.
"Off," she ordered, tugging at my shirt. I sat back just long enough to yank it over my head, and then her hands were on me, nails raking down my chest, leaving faint trails that burned in the best way.
"Hazel—"
"Shirt," she demanded, pulling at hers. I helped, peeling it away slow, but she sat up and unclasped her bra herself, tossing it aside like it offended her. Her breasts spilled free—full, perfect, nipples tight and begging. I groaned, leaning down to take one in my mouth, tongue swirling gentle.
She threaded fingers in my hair and pulled—hard. "Harder."
I obliged, sucking deeper, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me down until I was grinding against her, the friction through our clothes electric.
"Jeans," she panted. "Off. Both of us."
I tried to go slow, kissing down her stomach, but she wasn't waiting. Her hands fumbled at my belt, yanking it open, shoving my jeans down my hips. I kicked them off, then hers, until there was nothing between us but heat and need.
