"Plus, can you please be gentle with me?"
The confession stops my world completely. Every thought, every plan, every assumption shatters and reforms around this new truth. She kisses me back with such fire, but she has never been touched.
Never been claimed. Never been taken. Mine to worship. Mine to teach.
I take her hand and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. I know how precious trust is. I need to be gentle with her. Patient. Worshipful.
"Are you scared, Solnishko?"
She nods, her teeth catching her lower lip. "I am. I've heard it hurts, and if everything about you is as big as it looks..." Her gaze drops to where my arousal strains against my shorts. "Yes, I'm scared. But I also want you."
Those green eyes lift to mine again, and the combination there nearly brings me to my knees. Pure innocence warring with raw, honest lust.
She looks at me like I'm both salvation and damnation, like she knows exactly what she's asking for and fears it in equal measure.
But she's trusting me despite that fear.
"We'll go slow," I promise, my voice rougher than I intend. "As slow as you need."
My thumb traces her jawline, marveling at the way she leans into my touch.
"But once I have you, there's no going back. I don't let go. Ever."
This is my vow.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers tracing the tattoos visible at my collar. The gentle touch sends electricity racing through my veins.
"I've been yours since that first kiss," she whispers, and something inside my chest breaks open like a dam.
Her trust settles into my bones like a benediction. This woman, who could have anyone, chooses me, damaged goods and all.
"Stand up for me, Solnishko."
She rises on one unsteady leg, the afternoon light catching the amber threads in her hair. My hands find the hem of her dress, fingers brushing against silk-soft skin as I gather the fabric.
"Arms up."
She lifts her arms obediently, and I pull the dress up and over her head in one smooth motion. The fabric whispers as it falls to the floor, pooling around her bare feet like spilled wine.
Christ.
White lace cups her breasts, delicate as spun sugar. Matching panties sit low on her hips, the contrast against her pale skin enough to make my mouth water. Everything about the set screams innocence and purity, yet the way she stands before me radiates quiet confidence.
"You're perfect."
Pink blooms across her chest, creeping up her neck. I guide her onto the bed, watching as she settles against the charcoal sheets. Her hair fans out like a halo, green eyes wide and trusting.
I strip my shirt off slowly, giving her time to adjust to the sight of my inked skin.
Her gaze travels over every mark, every scar, without flinching. When her eyes meet mine again, there's no fear.
I keep my shorts on. Too much too fast will spook her, and I need her to be comfortable; I need her to want.
The mattress dips as I climb onto the bed, positioning myself above her small frame, my shoulders blocking out the light. I brace my weight on my forearms, careful not to crush her.
"I won't do anything you don't want." My promise comes out rough with want.
She nods, her breathing quick and shallow. I lower my head, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss before trailing down her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She shivers when I nip the tender skin.
