My chest got warm in a way that had nothing to do with the water. The moment replayed behind my eyes, holding her while she shook. Me being the difference between fear and relief. I didn’t take that lightly. I eased one hand away from under her leg slowly, keeping the other at her back so she wouldn’t feel abandoned. I stared at her face while she floated, beautiful and still, like her body was learning a new language of safety. She looked peaceful, and it did something to me because I wasn’t just teaching her to float; I was teaching her that she didn’t have to fight the world every second to deserve air.
I moved closer and whispered, “Open your eyes, Connie.”
She opened them and realized she was floating on her own. Her smile hit the night like a spark. She flailed her arms slightly, shifting in the water, then stood up with a proud little squeal that made my whole heart grin.
“You did it!” she said, laughing, beaming. “You helped me to be calm. I’m floating!” Her voice carried the sound like a victory, like a girl meeting herself again. “Thank you! This was so calming.”
“You’re a natural, baby,” I told her, and I meant it. “You just needed somebody who wasn’t going to play with your fear. You’re welcome, love.”
She waded toward me and stopped close, water between us, heat above it. She looked up into my eyes like she already knew what she wanted. “Kiss me.”
“Say less,” I murmured, but my tone was still gentle. Even when I was hungry, I was careful with what I valued.
I kissed her slowly, then deeper when she leaned in. My arms wrapped around her, hands respectful, learning her shape like a man learning his future. I lifted her, carried her to the edge, and set her down carefully.
I climbed out, grabbed a towel, and dried her off gently, like she was a treasure, wrapping her in reassurance until her bodyremembered it was safe. I kissed her forehead, then led her inside to my bathroom.
We took a quick shower together, washing the chlorine off each other’s bodies and hair, sharing soft touches, mixing with steam, and stepped out and dried off again.
I guided her to my bedroom and lay her down on my bed. I stood there for a second, just looking at her. I was thinking like a man who’d been through enough to recognize a blessing when it was breathing in front of him. I leaned down, brushed my knuckles over her cheek, and let my voice drop into something quiet and sure.
“You ready for me, Connie?”
“Yes.”
I nodded, like I received instructions from the universe.
“Good,” I whispered. “Tonight, I’m going to be gentle. And I’m going to be yours the right way.”
I kissed her again, and the room went warm around us.
That was all I needed. I reached over with a steady hand, moving with care because even desire should have discipline when the moment was cherished. When I settled over her, I didn’t rush. I held her gaze first, needing her to see the truth before her body felt it. I was here, I was gentle, and I wasn’t going anywhere. I kissed her slowly, her mouth first, then along her jaw, down the line of her neck, like I was writing reassurance into her skin.
I reached the nightstand with a steady hand as I grabbed a condom, opened it, and put it on carefully. When I settled over her, I didn’t collapse into the moment. I gazed into her eyes. I needed her to see the truth before she felt it. I kissed her mouth slowly, then traced kisses along her jaw, then her neck as I thrusted myself into her warm, wet opening. Her breath caught, then softened, like her body was learning my pace and realizing it didn’t have to fight for control. I kept one hand at her waist,the other at her cheek, holding her like I was reminding her she was safe, even in the heat. She made a small sound, sweet and shaky, and it went straight through me.
“Talk to me, Connie,” I murmured, my voice low and warm.
I trailed kisses down her collarbone to her breasts as I lightly caressed them, sucking on them gently. She moaned lightly as I gently rocked in and out of her.
“You feel good, baby.” She finally answered me.
Her lashes fluttered. Her fingers curled into my shoulders like she needed something solid to hold on to, and I loved that she reached for me instead of running from the feeling.
“So do you, love,” I responded before I kissed her neck and stared into her beautiful eyes.
The room filled with the sounds of her sexy moans as I stroked her effortlessly. Our breaths started syncing, two hearts finding the same rhythm as if they’d been rehearsing for this. I moved with a patience that still had hunger in it, showing her how much I’d been wanting her, but I respected her more than I wanted now. I brushed my lips to her ear and let the words fall out honestly, half-teasing, half-testimony.
“Damn, baby, you have the whole ocean in you,” I whispered, voice rough and breathy. “And I’m trying to learn every wave without losing my mind. Talk to me, baby.”
She found a rhythm like she’d been holding music in her hips this whole time, and the moment she started moving with intention, my mind stuttered. I had to bite down on every sound trying to climb out of me because she wasn’t just responding anymore; she wasspeaking, and her body had a vocabulary that made my self-control feel like a weak suggestion.
“Mmm,” I murmured, voice low, controlled, but barely. “You keep doing that, . . . you gon’ make me lose my discipline, love.”
She let out this soft, broken moan that turned into a cry, and I felt her try to scoot forward like she could run from how good it felt, like she could outrun what was happening between us.
“Baby . . .” She gasped, breath shaking. “You feel so, so good.”
I tightened my hold, not to trap her, but tosteadyher, to anchor her. I shifted us, slowly and carefully, guiding her like she was something I wanted to be worthy of, and when she gave me the perfect arch, it did something reckless to my heart.
