I pull back slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, lips parted from kissing. She looks wrecked, and we've barely started.
Her hands slide down from my hair to my chest, careful around the bandages. I can see it in her eyes. That desperate need for control. For agency. For one moment where she gets to decide instead of everything being decided for her.
She's been drowning for months. Struggling alone. Making impossible choices with no good options.
She needs this.
And I can give it to her.
I cup her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. "Tonight, you take what you need."
She searches my face for a moment, looking for the catch, the trick. Finding none.
Then she takes my hand. "Come with me."
I follow her to her bedroom. It’s the first time I’ve been in here since I arrived. It's small, simple. A double bed with mismatched sheets, a dresser with more photos, a window that overlooks the street.
She turns to face me, and I can see the nervousness mixing with determination in her eyes.
"Sit on the bed," she says.
I sit.
She stands between my knees, hands coming up to my shoulders. "Tell me if anything hurts."
Her fingers trace the edge of the bandage on my shoulder, feather-light. Then lower, to the one at my side. She's memorized where every wound is, catalogued them the way a nurse would. The way someone who cares would.
"I don't want to hurt you," she whispers.
"You won't." I catch her wrist gently, bringing her hand to my mouth. Kiss her palm, her wrist, the inside of her forearm. "I trust you."
The words land heavy between us. She swallows hard, then nods.
Her hands go to the hem of her vest, and she pulls it off in one smooth motion. No bra underneath. Just soft skin and perfect breasts that make my mouth water.
"Fuck," I breathe.
A small smile curves her lips. "Like what you see?"
"You know I do."
She pushes me back gently, careful of my wounds, until I'm lying on the bed. Then she hooks her thumbs into her sleep shorts and panties, sliding them down in one go.
And she's perfect. Every inch of her. Soft curves and pale skin and that determined look in her eyes that says she's done being afraid.
She climbs onto the bed, straddling my hips carefully. I can feel her heat against me through my jeans, can feel how wet she is already.
"Lily—"
"Let me," she says. "Please. Let me have this."
I nod, hands settling on her hips. Light pressure, just enough to ground her, and remind her I'm here.
She reaches for the waistband of my jeans, eyes meeting mine for permission. I lift my hips carefully as she undoes the fly, then help her slide them down. My cock springs free, hard and heavy against my stomach.
She reaches down, wrapping her hand around me. The touch is tentative at first, exploratory. Like she's learning me. Mapping me.
"Fuck," I grit out. "Lily—"
