The grip he’s got on my fingers tightens before he lets go, a slight tremble in them as he migrates to my wrist.
“And you’ll … let go if I say something?”
There’s a shake to his voice that wounds me deeply.
“Yes.”
“You promise?”
My eyes burn and my chest fills with the strength coming from him. The fuckingtrusthe’s handing me. “I promise, baby. I promise.”
Not once does he look away as he shifts my hand and pulls it closer, gently pressing my palm to his hip.
He grabs my other one and does the same.
My fingers curl lightly into the fabric and his slide up to hold onto my biceps.
His eyes slide closed, his head falling back, and the breathshakesfrom his lips.
I’m afraid to move. To blink. Tobreathe, for fear of bursting this bubble he’s let me in andfuck.
He’s so goddamnedbeautifulthat it hurts.
The column of his throat is exposed and pale like marble, his messy hair falling around his head.
There’s a freckle, light brown and sexy as hell, sitting right beneath his chin.
Don’t ask me how it’s sexy. It just is.
“Tristen,” he rasps, the grating sound of his voice making my cock jump. “I want to know what it’s like.”
I swallow. Hard.
“What’s like?”
“To feel somethingelse.”
My exhale is shaky. My fingers trembling as I uncurl them from the fabric and cup his hips.
“T-tell me what you need, Emmett,” I nearly whisper.
His head comes forward, his gaze crashing with mine. He studies me with parted lips and flush cheeks, his pupils blown wide.
“Touch me.”
It thick. Heavy. Loaded with so many emotions that every muscle in my body tightens up.
“Do you know the colors of a traffic light?” I ask, dipping the tips of my thumbs just below the hem of his hoodie. It’s feather light and warm. Soft. He nods and I lick my drying lips.
“Green, yellow, red.”
“What do they mean?”
His gaze bounces between mine, an air of desperation radiating from him in waves.
“Go, slow down. Stop.”
I gently press the pads of my thumbs against his skin, teasing small circles. “What color is this?”
