every part of him at war with restraint.
My eyes stay on his—unmoving.
His eyes stay on mine—holding.
I fear if I look away from them, I’ll run.
And it’s the only reason I can do this.
I slide out of his sweatpants,
slowly lifting the shirt over my head,
peeling layers of myself away.
Andrew’s still?—
so still?—
his eyes never leaving me.
Until I’m standing in front of him, naked,
my breasts grazing his shirt.
His eyes dip lower, trail heat across my chest.
An unhurried drag of his gaze.
Then his eyes inch back up,
mouth parting when his gaze meets mine again.
And the drowning in his fucking eyes is everything.
His jaw flexes hard,
throat bobbing as he swallows.
He’s breaking, hanging on by a thread.
Then I rise onto my toes,
grip the waistband of his joggers, bring us closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Until he’s so close,
I can taste his warm breath on my lips.
He lowers, his mouth brushing mine.
Slow at first. Asking. Waiting.
Letting me lead,
