"Okay?"
"Yes." It came out breathless.
"Can I kiss your neck?"
"I—" Fear and want tangled. "Soft. Please. Just soft."
He pressed lips to where pulse met skin, gentle as breathing. My hands found his shoulders, gripping probably too tight, but he didn't complain. Just kissed a path that rewrote every bruise Gabriel had left.
"Still good?"
"Different good. Keep going good."
"Can I touch your arms?"
"Yes."
He traced patterns from shoulders to wrists, learning me like a map he planned to memorize. Each touch asked permission, waited for response, honored the boundaries I was only just discovering I could have.
"The nightgown," I said suddenly. "Can I—I want it off. It's his choice, not mine."
"Then take it off. Or I can help. Your decision."
My decision. The phrase felt foreign in my mouth. I pulled the nightgown over my head before I could overthink it, sitting there in plain cotton underwear that was mine, my choice, bought after he died and left me rudderless.
"Beautiful," Nathan breathed.
"I'm not—" I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm scarred. And too thin. And my breasts are—"
"Beautiful," he repeated. "May I?"
I nodded, letting him uncross my arms, letting him look. His gaze felt different than the cataloguing I was used to. This was appreciation, not assessment.
"Can I touch?"
"Above the waist," I managed. "For now. I think. Maybe."
"Whatever you need."
His hands skimmed up my sides, careful of the knife scar under my ribs, the bullet graze near my shoulder. When his palms cupped my breasts, I gasped—not from sensation but from the asking, the patience, the revolutionary act of going at my pace.
"How does that feel?"
"Like I'm real." The words surprised me. "Like I'm here, in my body, not floating above it watching myself perform."
"Good. That's good. Can I use my mouth?"
"I—yes."
He lowered his head, pressing kisses to scars first, honoring the history written on my skin. When his mouth found my nipple, I made a sound I'd never made before—not performed pleasure but genuine surprise at how different it felt when I wanted it.
"Oh," I breathed. "Oh, that's—"
"Tell me."
"Good. Really good. I didn't know it could—when I want it—"
He hummed understanding against my skin, switching to the other breast, building sensation like laying bricks for a foundation I'd never had. My hands found his hair, holding him close, marveling at the permission to direct.
