She fumbles with the buttons of my flannel, giggling when she misses one. I don’t help. Just stand there while she tries again, hands shaking, breath shallow. Every instinct in me wants to take over—but I won’t. This isn’t about speed. It’s about choice.
I catch her wrists gently, smoothing her palms over my chest, grounding her, and myself.
“Still time to stop.”
“I don’t want to.”
My forehead rests against hers. The simplicity of her words hits harder than anything else could.
“I want you, too, Allie Montgomery.”
My mouth hovers over hers, tension coiling tight. My hands slide to her waist—and stop. Giving her another moment. Another chance to pull back.
“Sorry I’m so…” She gasps when my grip firms just slightly. “Soft.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I kiss her then—slow, deep, unhurried. No claiming. No rush. When I pull back, she’s flushed and breathless, eyes shining like she’s stepped into something she didn’t know she was allowed to want.
“I like how you feel under my hands,” I murmur, squeezing her hips just enough to draw a soft sound from her throat. “Like you were made for them.”
That breaks her restraint.
She kisses me harder, tugging me backward toward the bed. And damn—I feel it. No hiding it now. My body gives me away completely, heat and need crashing together.
I lay her down gently, bracing myself so I don’t crush her. Firelight flickers gold across her skin, painting her in warmth and shadow. She looks unreal like this—open, trusting, waiting.
“This still okay?” I check in, voice low but steady.
“Yes.”
Her palm slides under my Henley, skin on skin. The contact pulls a groan from me before I can stop it. I fight for control, breathing through it, grounding myself in the weight of my body, the smell of her, the crackle of the fire.
Her eyes round. “Did you hurt your hand again?”
“What hand?” I chuckle softly, savoring how her fingertips explore my chest and abs, curious and unafraid. I bring my hand up to stroke her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.
“You’re so beautiful,” I manage, the words scraping my throat raw.
The truth of it hits me hard enough to hurt.
Yearning shivers through me, centering low and deep. She guides my good hand beneath her shirt, the motion deliberate, unmistakable.
“Show me.”
I do. Slow circles, learning her breath, her rhythm, the way her body answers without fear. When my thumb brushes her pebbled nipple, she gasps, hips lifting just enough to tell me she wants more.
“Please.”
Every slide of my fingers, every brush of my hand is a lesson. I dip my head, kiss and tease, letting her melt beneath me. She pulls my hand lower, to where she’s already slick and aching.
“Tell me when to stop,” I murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her lavender eyes shine. Something deep and fragile flickers there.
“You’re such a good man.”
“What does that mean?” I ask carefully.
