“Not as hot as you, coming all over my fingers in the restaurant.”
Bristol looks down at the ground and bites her lip. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she confesses.
Pride and possessiveness swell in my chest. “Good. I like knowing I’m the only one you trust enough to go that far,” I tell her as I shuck off the rest of my clothes and lean down to kiss her again.
“We can’t have that now, can we?” I tease lightly, pulling back just enough to look at her.
“I should warn you…” she starts.
I already know. I can hear it in her voice—the hesitation, the instinct to apologize for taking up space.
I kiss her again, slow this time, meant to quiet her instead of distract her.
She presses a hand to my chest, stopping me. “Rhett. I mean it.”
I sigh softly and rest my forehead against hers. “If you’re about to say something about your curves, or your size, or any version ofsorry for existing—don’t.”
She gasps in surprise.
“I’m a grown man,” I continue, my hands settling deliberately on her hips. “And I know exactly what I’m looking at.”
She swallows.
“I like you,” I say simply. “All of you. The softness. The strength. The way you fit against me. You. Me.Us?It was never a question.” My thumb brushes along her jaw, gentle but steady. “You don’t need to warn me about your body, Bristol. I’m not heredespiteit.”
I lean in, kissing her again—unhurried, sure.
“I’m here because of it.”
She goes very still, letting my words sink in.
Then her breath shudders, and she laughs —but there’s nothing playful about it this time.
“Oh,” she murmurs. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that,” she admits.
My heart squeezes in my chest.
Fuck.I really am falling for this woman.
I lift one hand and brush my thumb beneath her eye, catching the hint of moisture there. “You don’t have to be brave with me.”
Her lashes flutter open. “I’m not,” she says quietly. “Not right now.”
She reaches up then, fingers moving with deliberate care as she slips her glasses off. It’s such a small thing, but it feels intimate—like she’s choosing not to hide behind anything.
She sets them aside on the dresser, turns back to me.
Without them, her gaze feels even more open. Vulnerable. Wanting.
She leans into my touch immediately, like she trusts it.
“I’ve spent a lot of time making myself smaller,” she whispers. “Or quieter. Or easier to accept.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to be any of those things with me.”
Her hands curl into my shirt, knuckles pressing into my chest. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” I say honestly. “I want you. Exactly as you are.”
