Our breathing merges until we’re in perfect sync. He holds me steady as if he’d stay there forever.
“I needed this.” It’s easier to admit when I can’t see his face.
“You can lower your hands.” The words come out roughly. “Just… slowly. Rest them on top of mine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He breathes in as I pull my hands in, carefully laying them over his hands on my stomach with a featherlight movement. “That’s – that’s fine.”
Carefully – so carefully – I stroke the very edge of my right thumb over the back of his hand. Jenson’s breath stutters.
“Do you still want to do this?” I close my eyes as I ask the question. “Because I do.”
“Yes.” There’s no doubt in his voice, and it steadies me further. “Very much.”
“Okay. Can I… turn around? If I keep my hands behind me?”
He stiffens, his lips brushing my hair as he thinks it over. “Alright.”
I shift in his arms, his grip tightening as I turn. And his eyes are closed. “Is it mainly hands that bothers you?”
His nod is short. “And kissing.”
“Okay,” I breathe. I keep my movement slow as I lean forward. “My hands are behind me. I’m not going to touch you with them.”
Carefully, I settle my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat thumps against my ear, his palms spreading over my lower back. Holding me against him, even gingerly. “Will you touch my hands? When I’m asleep?”
“I don’t intend to leave a single part of you untouched.” His throat bobs, his chin brushing the top of my head as if he’s looking down at me. “It’s not an issue if I know you can’t reach for me.”
Boundaries. Fears. So many reasons not to do this.
I lean back so I can see his face. Steel-gray eyes blaze down at me.
I want to do this with him. With all of them. I draw back from Jenson, his arms slipping away.
“Show me my room, Jenson.”
And this time, my voice doesn’t shake at all.
His lip tilts up in the corner. But he doesn’t say anything as he turns, leading me to a door directly opposite the top of the stairs that I missed in my panic on the way up. “We put you here. If you want to leave, it’s straight down the stairs. The code is on the notepad beside your bed.”
My heart turns over inside my chest. “You really thought of every possible angle, didn’t you?”
“Tried to.” He runs his eyes over my face. “But most of all, I wanted to make sure that the decision is yours. Not pushed because of something we overlooked.”
“I know.” I know that they want me. But they won’t say a word if Jenson walks away, and they find an empty room in the morning. “Are you coming in?”
He shakes his head. “Take some time. There’s no rush. We’ll be downstairs if you need us.”
Nodding, I grip one arm awkwardly. “Goodnight, then?”
“Goodnight, Briar.” His fingers lift, a hair's breadth away from touching my face. My lips part in shock, but he doesn’t touch my skin, a phantom stroke that lights a fire inside my stomach. “Wear your hair down.”
And he’s gone, my bag placed in front of the doorway. I watch his back, his fists clenched at his sides as he strides down the stairs without looking back.
The room is exactly how they explained it would be. Directly opposite the doorway is a large, four-poster bed, dark wooden pillars at each corner connected by gathered, gauzy white material. The bed is made up, comfortable-looking pillows and silky sheets in shades of white. A warm amber light casts over them from the lamp next to the bed. The notebook Jenson mentioned is beside it.
I swallow. There’s also a glass. And two pills, laid out neatly on a plate.
