“I walked away because I thought it was what you needed,” I murmur against the crown of her head. “Not because I wanted to.”
Her breath hitches, a broken exhale that slideswarmth through the cotton covering my chest. “I didn’t want you to go.”
I tilt her face up with both hands, framing her jaw gently, forcing myself to move with reverence even though my pulse is a drumbeat in the hollow of my throat. Her eyes are wet and wide, fear flickering there like a candle in a storm.
“You came to me terrified,” I whisper, brushing my thumb along her cheekbone. “So let me be the one thing you don’t have to fear.”
Her lips tremble, parting with something like a quiet surrender. Then she leans up, and her mouth grazes mine. Not a kiss. Just a soft, searching touch of breath and the ghost of her lips on mine, like she’s testing the ground before stepping forward.
I answer her with stillness. She inhales sharply, and that’s when she kisses me so full of ache it feels like the room narrows around the two of us. Her fingers slide up my chest, curling at the base of my throat, and her mouth moves like she’s memorizing the shape of me in real time.
My lips part, not to deepen it, just to breathe with her. Her breath slips inside mine, filling every hollow space in me that’s been aching since the night before.
“Kyle,” she whispers against my mouth, and the sound is so honest, it feels like she’s placing her heart in my hands.
I slide my palms down her sides, fingertips tracing the shape of her waist through her blouse, slow enough that she has time to feel every inch. She arches slightly,but enough for me to feel her body reaching. I kiss her deeper, but not harder. Her hands move up my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tugging gently like she’s grounding herself. The pull draws an indistinct sound from my chest—soft, not rough—and she swallows it with a shaky kiss that lands just at the corner of my mouth.
“I didn’t know if you would let me touch you again,” she whispers into my cheek.
“I’ll always let you,” I whisper back, brushing my nose along hers. “Always.”
Her body shudders, and I feel it everywhere. I slide a hand to the small of her back, guiding her gently until her hips meet mine, and the soft gasp that leaves her lips nearly buckles my knees.
“Kyle…”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, cupping her cheek, letting her see the truth etched into every line of my face.
Her gaze flickers to my mouth, and she leans in again, kissing me with more certainty this time. I let my hands find the hem of her blouse, sliding underneath with the lightest touch. Her skin is warm and impossibly soft beneath my fingertips. She inhales so sharply I feel it in my own lungs.
“Tell me if anything is too much,” I whisper into the shell of her ear.
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “It’s not enough.”
That confession pours heat low and deep through me. I guide her backward slowly, step by step, my mouth barely leaving hers. She bumps softly into theedge of the couch, and her breath stutters as I steady her hips with my hands.
“Kyle,” she whispers again, not with fear this time, but with quiet, almost reverent need.
I lean my forehead to hers. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
She swallows, her fingers trembling as they slide down the front of my shirt, tugging the fabric gently. “Touch me.”
Heat flashes through me, but I keep my touch slow, sliding my palms up her sides. My thumbs brush the underside of her ribs. She arches into the contact like her body has been waiting all day for someone to touch her without asking for something in return.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, guiding her gently onto the couch and lowering her into a promise instead of a mistake. Her back sinks into the cushions, and I follow her down, letting my weight settle only when she pulls me closer with both hands.
“I need you.” Her breath feathers across my jaw, warm and shaking.
“You have me,” I whisper, my lips brushing her throat, capturing the tiny, trembling pulse beneath her skin.
She shivers, her hands sliding under my shirt, fingertips tracing up my spine with a tenderness that absolutely wrecks me. I lift the fabric over my head, tossing it aside, and her eyes drink me in with something that hits deeper than desire. I lower my body to hers but keep enough space so that she can breathe, my forearm braced beside her head. Her hands skimmy torso, mapping every line, every breath, every tremor.
“Is this okay?” I murmur against her collarbone, kissing a trail up the curve of her neck.
“Yes,” she breathes, arching into me. “More.”
So, I give her more. The slide of my mouth along her jaw, the warmth of my hands at her hips, the slow drag of her blouse upward until she lifts her arms and lets me pull it over her head.
She lies beneath me in just her bra, eyes soft and trembling and sure.
