Her eyes widen slightly, surprise and want and fear all flickering across her face in rapid succession. "Wyatt..."
"Just to cuddle," I clarify quickly, though that's only partially true. I want more than sleep, want everything she's willing to give me, but I won't push. This has to be her choice. "Or whatever you're comfortable with. I just want you close. Want to hold you."
She's quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching my face for something. Proof that this is real, maybe. Or that I won't hurt her the way Vincent did. That I mean what I say, that this isn't a trick or a trap.
Finally, she nods. Just a small dip of her chin, but it's enough.
I open my bedroom door, drawing her inside with our joined hands. My room is neat but lived in, the bed made but not perfectly, clothes folded on the chair by the window that I haven't put away yet. It's not fancy or impressive, just the spacewhere I sleep and exist. But having Amelia in it feels significant, like I'm letting her see parts of me I usually keep hidden.
I close the door behind us, not locking it because the kids might need us, but creating at least the illusion of privacy. Amelia stands in the middle of the room looking uncertain, her free hand fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
"We don't have to do anything," I tell her gently, moving to stand in front of her. "We can just lie down together. I can hold you and we can sleep. That's enough for me, sunshine. You're enough for me."
"I want..." She stops, her voice catching before she tries again. "I want more than just sleeping. I want you. I just don't know if I can... if I'll be any good at this."
The vulnerability in her admission makes my chest ache. "You don't have to be good at anything. This isn't a performance. It's just us, figuring this out together."
I lean down slowly, giving her time to pull away, and kiss her. Soft at first, just a gentle press of lips, but when she makes a small sound in her throat and presses closer, I deepen it. My hands slide down to her hips, pulling her against me, and she goes willingly, her arms wrapping around my neck.
We kiss for long minutes, learning each other, finding a rhythm that works for both of us. Her lips are soft, her mouth eager despite her nervousness. When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard, and her eyes are dark with want.
"You're sure?" I ask one more time, needing to hear her say it.
"I'm sure," she whispers. "I'm terrified, but I'm sure."
"We stop whenever you say," I tell her firmly, my hands framing her face so she has to look at me, has to see how serious I am. "This is yours to control, Amelia. Your pace, your comfort. If something doesn't feel right, if you need to stop or slow down or just take a breath, you tell me. Promise me you'll tell me."
Her eyes fill with tears, and for a moment I think I've said something wrong, pushed too hard. But then she's nodding, one tear spilling over to track down her cheek.
"No one's ever..." Her voice breaks. "Vincent never let me have any control. It was always about what he wanted, when he wanted it. I didn't get a choice."
Rage floods through me, but I push it down. This isn't about Vincent. This is about Amelia, about showing her that intimacy doesn't have to be about power and control. That it can be something beautiful and mutual, something that makes both people feel safe and cherished.
"I've got you, sunshine," I murmur, kissing away the tear on her cheek. "Always. And we're going to take this as slow as you need."
I guide her to the bed, sitting down and pulling her into my lap so she's straddling me. This way she has all the control, can set the pace, can pull away at any time. She seems to understand what I'm doing because she relaxes slightly, her hands resting on my shoulders.
We kiss again, slower this time, more thorough. My hands slide under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, the way she shivers when I touch her. She's wearing a soft cotton shirt and sleep shorts, and I work them off carefully, pausing between each piece of clothing to make sure she's still okay, still wants this.
When she's down to just her panties, I stop to look at her. Really look at her. She's beautiful, all soft curves and smooth skin, and I tell her so. Tell her she's gorgeous, that I've been thinking about this for weeks, and that I want to make her feel good.
She blushes, ducking her head, and I tilt her chin back up. "Don't hide from me. I want to see you. All of you."
She helps me out of my own clothes, her hands shaking slightly but determined. And then we're skin to skin, and the feeling of her against me is almost overwhelming. I lay her down on the bed, covering her body with mine but keeping my weight on my elbows so I don't crush her.
"Tell me what you like," I murmur against her neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. "Tell me what feels good."
"I don't know," she admits, her voice small. "Vincent never asked or cared."
"Then we'll figure it out together," I promise.
I take my time, exploring her body with my hands and mouth, paying attention to every sound she makes, every hitch in her breath, every place that makes her arch into my touch. When I finally slide inside her, slow and careful, she gasps, her hands fisting in the sheets.
I freeze immediately. "You okay? Do we need to stop?"
"No." Her voice comes out breathless. "Don't stop. Please don't stop. It just... it feels different. Good different."
"This is making love, sunshine," I whisper, starting to move in slow, careful strokes. "This is what it's supposed to feel like when someone cares about you."
