Don’t apologize,” he says, his voice firm and steady in that way only he knows how to be. “I don’t want you doing that.”
I hesitate. My chest rises and falls, and I can’t stop staring at him, at his face, so perfect it almost hurts to look at. Like he stepped out of a world I was never meant to touch.
“So…” I whisper, barely able to form the words, “you… You still want me?”
It comes out small. Embarrassed. My face burns as the question hangs in the air between us like a fragile thread.
“I still want you,” he says. There’s no pause, no doubt, just the weight of it, solid and grounding. “Very much. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My heart stumbles in my chest. I look down, unsure how to hold that kind of want. It feels too big for someone like me.
“I don’t know how to let myself be wanted,” I admit, my voice quiet and raw. “Not without doubting it. Not without wondering if it’ll disappear the second I get used to it.”
He leans in slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he moves too fast. His forehead hovers just inches from mine, his breath brushing my skin.
“Then we’ll take it slow,” he says. “But don’t push me away, thinking I’ll leave. I don’t walk away, Lucas. Not from you.”
I close my eyes. Just for a moment, to hold it in—the warmth of him, the closeness, the unfamiliar comfort of being wanted and held and seen. The ache that lives in my chest softens.
When I open my eyes again, he’s still there—still watching me like I’m something worth staying for and still holding me like I belong.
I want to tell him that I want him too, that I’ve already fallen head over heels for him and can’t stop thinking about him. But I don’t. I can’t.
I have so little pride left. I need to keep what scraps remain.
So I give him the only truth I can manage without falling apart.
“I can work with taking it slow,” I say softly, my voice calm, though everything inside me is shaking.
A small smile touches his lips, not smug, not teasing, just soft and real.
“Good,” he says, “I’ll take whatever pace you give me, Lucas, as long as you’ll get to be mine at the end.”
My stomach wouldn’t stop flipping.
“You’re… not gonna stop touching me, right?” The words fall out before I can trap them, quiet and trembling, soaked in heat and hesitation. My face burns instantly. I hate how exposed I feel.
“God, no,” he says, his voice a little rough around the edges now. “I’m never going to stop touching you.”
He lifts his hand, fingers brushing the side of my throat with unbearable softness, thumb dragging just under my jaw. My skin sparks beneath his touch, too tender, too much, making me forget how to breathe.
Then slowly he leans in and buries his face against the side of my neck. I tilt my head, offering him space, exposing skin, letting him in. It’s not words, but it’s everything I can’t bring myself to say.
I missed you. I need you. I want to be touched by you.
“I’ll touch you everywhere,” he murmurs against my neck, the warmth of his breath melting through me, unraveling me from the inside out. His voice is low, reverent, like a vow.
His hands trail along my waist before he draws me into him—fully, firmly, and I feel it. I feel Him. My body goes hot instantly, I’m hard as well, and just the feel of him against me makes me gasp quietly, the sound barely audible.
His fingers slide up my back, slow and grounding. And then his mouth presses against my neck. Just the softest brush of lips, breath, and heat, leaving Featherlight kisses, like he’s memorizing me.
“You see what you do to me, Lucas?” he says, voice rough and raw. “You see just how much I can’t resist you.”
My throat tightens, and my heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear anything else. I don’t know how to hold all of this, how to make sense of someone like him wanting someone like me.
Does he know?
Does he know what he’s doing to me?
