She nods in quiet acceptance, fingers resting at the edge of my jaw. She sweeps them across my cheek, then down through the roughness of my beard, studying me like a map she’s learning by touch—tracing every line, seeking meaning in the texture.
Then, she slips her arms around my waist and presses her body into mine. Her warmth sinks into me instantly, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.
I don’t know how long we stand like that, nor do I care. With Estella, time collapses, and the noise of the world dissolves. Nothing exists except her body pressed to me, her pulse echoing against my own, and the fragile, terrifying truth that she is the only person I’ve ever allowed this close.
Slowly, she pulls back, and the loss of her heat punches the air out of my lungs. I nearly drop to my knees with the sheer need to feel her again. She takes a small step away but keeps her eyes locked to mine. Something shifts in her expression—something shadowed, something new, something that wasn’t there a moment ago.
She crosses the room without breaking eye contact, grabs the back of a velvet-black chair, and drags it closer until it sits next to the bed. A prickling unease crawls up my spine when she lifts her chin at me in a wordless invitation, soft but absolute.
Pressure tightens across my ribs, and sweat pricks at my hairline. Estella waits without hurry, her eyes gentle, her calm unshakable.
A few long beats pass before I force myself forward. Each step drags through the thick weight of hesitation coiling inside me, tightening, twisting, pressing harder against my throat.
She smiles gently when I obey and sit. Her hands settle on my shoulders, and the moment her palms connect with my skin through the fabric, a shudder ripples through me. Her fingers knead with a perfect balance of firmness and tenderness, working through the tension knotted deep in my muscles.
She still doesn’t speak. The room holds its breath with us, the only sound my uneven breathing echoing softly in the red-lit space. I let my eyes fall shut, surrendering to her touch, straightening as she pushes deeper into the stress coiled alongmy spine. I try to push out the fear, the static, the thoughts that tangle like tripwires in my mind.
Out of every person in this world, Estella is the only one I trust not to hurt me. She sees exactly what I am, and she accepts it. She lives with it. And now she’s trying to guide me toward the one line I’ve never crossed, a boundary no one else has ever been allowed to touch—a line that terrifies me precisely because it’s hers to cross.
Heat surges through my body, rising too fast, too thick, until more sweat beads along my hairline and rolls down the sides of my face. A sharp, cutting shame slices through me, familiar in a way that twists my stomach. It feels like something I’ve carried my whole life—hovering just out of reach, yet flashing right in front of me now, while I stand too blind to grasp why.
The tie around my neck tightens like a pair of hands clamped around my throat. I reach for it, clawing at the fabric as the itch spreads across my damp skin. My fingers fumble, frantic, tugging and tearing at the knot before a soft touch grazes my hands.
I freeze.
My eyes stay shut, but I feel her leaning in, feel her fingers brushing mine aside to work the tie loose with patient, practiced motions. Her perfume drifts over me, and paired with her touch, it slices through my panic, easing something inside my chest.
She untangles the knots I managed to make, one careful pull after another, until the tie slips free and falls to the floor with a soft rustle. I drag in a ragged breath just as her hands glide to my blazer. She eases it off my shoulders, letting the fabric slide over my skin. A cool rush of air washes over me, brushing the heat trapped beneath my clothes, and I shift in the chair, realizing how the blazer had been clinging to my sweat-damp back.
“Don’t open your eyes,” she murmurs, gentle but commanding.
I squeeze them shut harder, feeling the wet burn pooling behind my eyelids.
My brow creases as I drag a hand across my face, irritated at myself for the tremor building in my chest. Shame swells, and my throat tightens with the humiliating realization that I’m on the verge of crying.
Fuckingcrying. And I don’t even know why. I can’t name the feeling, can’t cage it, can’t wrestle it down the way I’m used to.
A broken sound catches in my throat the moment something touches my skin—soft, sliding across my forehead, then down my cheeks and jaw, tracing the path of sweat. The tension collapses from my face, and my muscles melt, loosening with every slow stroke as Estella drags what I now realize is a cloth over me. She moves it lower, brushing along my neck, gentle and unhurried.
It takes several thudding beats of my heart before I understand.
She’s taking care of me.
The realization strikes harder than it should. A shudder runs through me, heat flooding my face. My cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment, unfamiliarity, and need, all tangled into something I’ve never allowed myself to feel.
I never realized how much I wanted this.
How much I trulyneededit.
When she finishes, she steps away, and the absence of her touch slices into me like cold air. A pathetic, guttural sound almost escapes my chest—a plea for her to return. But before it can fully form, she’s already back, her hands settling on my shoulders with steady weight. They trace down to my chest, warm against my overheated skin.
Without thinking, I lift my hands, catch hers, and bring them to my face. My lips press against her skin once, then again, and again, planting desperate, unguarded kisses across her fingers. Idon’t even register what I’m doing until her breath stutters and she gently pulls her hands back.
“You’ve always taken care of me,” she whispers, her words brushing the shell of my ear.
Slowly, her fingers drift down to the buttons of my shirt. She pauses—waiting, testing, giving me the chance to step back.
I stay still.
