I stop her before she can say anything else, “This isn’t about a score sheet. You don’t have to feel like you need to ‘return the favor’ just because I did something I’ve been thinking about doing since I met you.”
She repositions so she can gaze into my eyes. “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever known a man like you before.”
I cup her cheek with one hand. “Everything I do for you is because I want to, not because I’m looking to keep score.”
TEN
RILEY
This is so new to me. Crewe isn’t like any man I’ve dated before. All the others have always wanted something from me. In and out of the bedroom, but Crewe just wants me to be happy.
Like he doesn’t care about himself.
And it makes me want to please him even more.
I slide my hand to his cheek and kiss him slower, softer—telling him without words that I want this.
Crewe responds like he’s been waiting for permission he never asked for.
The kiss turns hungry again, mouths moving, breath tangling. His hand slides along my side, pulling me flush to him, and I feel the hard line of his restraint right alongside his desire.
I gasp softly, and he makes that sound again—low and rough—and it lights me up from the inside.
He breaks the kiss to press his mouth to my throat, just below my jaw, and I inhale sharply.
“Crewe,” I whisper.
He pauses immediately. “Talk to me.”
My skin is too warm. My thoughts are too scattered. “Don’t stop.”
He exhales like that costs him something.
Then he continues—slow kisses along my neck, his hand still at my waist, grounding me. The intimacy of it hits harder than the heat. It’s not just what he’s doing.
It’s the fact that he’spaying attention.
Like my body is a language he’s fluent in already.
I tilt my head back, giving him access, and his mouth is warm against my skin. My fingers tighten in his hair.
He lifts his head and looks at me, eyes dark. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“Because you’re… you,” I whisper, breathless.
His mouth curves slightly. “That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
He kisses me again—one slow, deep kiss that turns my knees soft.
Then he pulls back, resting his forehead to mine, breathing hard. “I want you,” he says, and the raw honesty of it makes my heart flip. “But like I said, don’t feel like you owe me anything.”
I blink, overwhelmed. “I don’t.”
His hands tighten around my waist like he’s anchoring himself too. Like he’s fighting the instinct to do everything at once.
He kisses me again—deep, hot, unhurried.
