And hegoes.
Like I gave him permission to burn.
The second kiss is sharper, deeper. His hands spread across my back, flattening me to him. Every part of me feels claimed. My legs wrap around his waist without thought as he walks me backward until my shoulders meet the wall.
He lifts me effortlessly, holding me against him with nothing but his grip and his body and the gravity of what’s happening between us.
His mouth moves down my neck, grazing heat into my skin. His breath makes me shiver.
I feel unmade. Exposed. Like he’s peeling back every part of me I keep hidden and liking what he finds.
His hands slide under my shirt, slow, rough palms against my bare skin. He pauses.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I whisper, breath hitching. “I’m sure.”
His touch shifts. He releases me, our clothes come off in quiet urgency, no rush but no hesitation either. Each inch of skin revealed feels like a vow being spoken. His mouth finds mine again, and this time, nothing holds back.
Then he lifts me like I weigh nothing and lays me gently on the bed.
And just before we cross that final line, I press a hand to his chest.
“Wait.”
His body stills. Eyes lock on mine.
“I’ve never done this before,” I murmur. “With anyone.”
For a breath, he says nothing. Just watches me, eyes darkening, heat flickering behind the shock. But when he moves again, it’s slower. Softer. Like something in him just changed.
He leans in, brushes his mouth over my cheekbone, then the curve of my jaw. A kiss like a promise.
“Then I’m going to make damn sure you never forget it,” he says, voice rough with something that sounds like reverence.
He lays me back gently, like I’m breakable but he’s still hungry to know every inch. His hands map my skin with care, skimming from collarbone to hip with quiet authority.
“I’m not gentle,” he says into my throat, voice rasping against skin. “I’ve never had a reason to be. But right now, I’ll give you every ounce of patience I’ve got.”
I nod, words caught behind the tight ache in my chest. I’ve never been touched like this. Never even imagined it could feel like this.
He kisses lower. Trails heat down the inside of my thigh, parting them with careful hands. I tremble. He notices.
He looks up, eyes burning. “Tell me you want this,” he murmurs. “I already know. But I need to hear it. I need it in your voice.”
“I want this,” I whisper. “I wantyou.”
Something cracks open in his expression.
“Good,” he says, then lowers his head.
The first brush of his tongue is slow, and I swear it short-circuits my brain. Not soft. Not sweet. Focused. Like he’s settling in for a long, thorough study of me.
My hips jerk. His hands pin them down.
"Easy," he murmurs. "Let me learn you first."
Then he does.
