"Deal."
He stood, offering his hand. I took it, letting him lead me to my own bedroom like I'd never seen it before. Maybe I hadn't. Not like this. Not as a space where I got to choose.
"Lights?" he asked.
"On. I need—I need to see you. To know it's you and not—"
"Not him. Yes." He left the lamp on, golden light softening the edges of everything. "On the bed?"
I sat on the edge, hands twisting in my nightgown. "I don't know how to do this without performing."
"Then don't worry about doing. Just be." He knelt in front of me—not dominant positioning but equalizing, putting his face level with mine. "Tell me what you're feeling."
"Terrified. Excited. Confused." I touched his face, wondering at the permission to do so. "You have a scar here. Knife?"
"Box cutter. Age twelve. Long story." He turned his head to kiss my palm. "What else are you feeling?"
"Warm. Here." I pressed my free hand low on my belly. "Like before a hunt but different. Softer."
"That's arousal without adrenaline. Just want for want's sake."
"It's strange."
"Good strange?"
I considered this. "Yes. I think. Maybe."
"Can I touch you more?"
"Where?"
"Wherever you want me to."
The freedom of it paralyzed me. "I don't—can you just—"
"How about this," he said. "I'll try things, very slowly. You tell me yes or no or stop. Think of it as building a database. What Bunny likes versus what she's been trained to tolerate."
"I understand databases."
"I know you do." He smiled, and it reached his eyes in a way that made my chest ache. "Can I touch your face?"
"Yes."
His hands cupped my cheeks, thumbs stroking over cheekbones. I catalogued the sensation: gentle, warm, purposeless except to give comfort.
"Good?" he asked.
"Good."
"Your neck?"
I tensed. "Careful. That's—Gabriel would—"
"I'm not Gabriel." But he waited. "Yes or no?"
"Try. But careful."
His fingers traced down from my jaw, barely-there touches that made me shiver. No pressure on my throat, no reminder of vulnerability. Just touch for touch's sake.
