“Are you?” she whispers.
The question lodges under my ribs.
I think about all the times I pulled back. The times I let fear and loyalty to other people dictate the way I treated her. The way I treated myself.
I take a breath deep enough to hurt. “Yeah,” I say. “I am. I’m scared as hell, but I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
Something fractures in her expression—something brittle and old. Her eyes shine.
“Okay,” she says, voice thick. “Then stay.”
Chapter Seventeen – Crew
Bailey’s mouth finds mine again, softer this time, like a promise instead of a challenge. I kiss her back, my hands sliding up her spine, feeling each notch and curve through the fabric, mapping her like a route home.
She shifts in my lap, and I suck in a sharp breath. Her smile turns a little wicked, a little shy. “Still sure you want to take it slow, Wright?”
I let out a strangled laugh. “Define ‘slow’.”
She leans in, lips brushing my ear. “We’ve been slow for years.”
The truth of that rolls through me, heavy and undeniable.
I turn my head, nuzzling into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. Vanilla and paper and something uniquely Bailey.
“Okay,” I murmur against her skin. “Then maybe tonight we can… speed up a little.”
Her breath stutters. “Good,” she whispers. “Because if I have to stare at your mouth for one more second and not taste you, I might actually combust.”
“I’m a professional,” I say, voice rough. “I can handle a little heat.”
She snorts, then dissolves into a gasp as I trail slow, reverent kisses along the line of her jaw.
Her hands fist in the back of my shirt. She rocks against me, and every nerve ending I have lights up.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “Bailey, tell me what you want.”
Her eyes hold mine, steady and sure, even as her cheeks flush. “I want you,” she says. “All of you. No half-measures. No pretending we’re not already in this up to our eyeballs.”
My throat goes tight. “Okay.”
I stand, hands firm on her hips, lifting her with me like she weighs nothing. She lets out a surprised laugh and wraps her legs around my waist, arms looping around my shoulders.
“You could’ve just asked me to move,” she says, breathless.
“Where’s the fun in that?” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.
She laughs again, the sound bright and disbelieving, like she can’t quite believe this is happening. Like I can’t either.
The fairy lights cast soft, warm halos on the walls as I carry her the few steps toward the bedroom alcove. It’s more of a nook than a room—a double bed pushed against the far wall, a quilt in muted blues and greens, a stack of books on the nightstand threatening to avalanche.
I pause at the threshold, heartbeat loud in my ears. “Last chance to kick me back to the couch,” I say, voice low. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll sleep out there, no questions asked.”
She cups my face again, thumb brushing the faint line of a scar at my chin from a tackle gone wrong years ago. “I’m not going to change my mind in the next five steps,” she says softly. “If I do, I’ll tell you. I promise.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I add as I reach forward and unsnap the button on her pants. The zipper quickly followed, its clicking noise meshing with our heavy breaths.
