I filled their water bowls, gave them each a treat, and made sure they were settled on their beds in the living room. Marceline circled three times before flopping down with a dramatic sigh. Bubblegum was already curled up, watching me with those patient brown eyes.
“Don't judge me,” I told her, then I walked down the hall to my bedroom.
Holden stood by the window, silhouetted against the streetlight coming through the thin curtains. He'd taken off his jacket and boots but nothing else, like he wasn't sure how far he was allowed to go. When I stepped through the doorway, he turned, and the look on his face made my breath catch.
Want. Pure, undisguised want. And underneath it, something that looked almost like fear.
I crossed the room and walked straight into his arms.
He caught me like I belonged there, one big hand spanning my lower back, the other cupping the back of my head. I looked up and he bent down, and when our mouths met this time it was slower. Deeper. Like we had all night.
We did have all night.
“Hey,” I said against his lips. He looked nervous. “You okay?”
His jaw tightened with something that looked like embarrassment. “It's been a while.”
“How long?”
Holden swallowed hard and shook his head. “I don't—I'm not good at this. At letting people in.”
Oh. Oh, my heart. My gentle giant.
“That's okay.” I cradled his face in my hands, made him look at me. Really look. “We can go slow. We can stop whenever you want. I just want to make you feel good.”
Something cracked open in his expression. The guardedness he always wore, the careful distance—it slipped, just for a moment, and underneath I saw longing so raw it made my chest ache.
“Jamie.” My name in his mouth like a prayer. “I want—”
“Tell me.”
“You. I want you.”
“You got me.” I pulled him down and kissed him until we were both breathless.
Holden was careful at first. That was the thing I noticed as we undressed each other, the way his hands moved over my body with a kind of reverence that made my throat tight. He tugged off my shirt like he was unwrapping something precious, then stopped to just look at me in the low light from the window. His calloused fingers traced my collarbone, my chest, my torso.
“You're beautiful,” he said as we stood, shirtless.
“I'm average.”
“You're beautiful.” No room for argument. Just fact.
I reached for his flannel, worked the buttons free one by one. He let me, standing still while I pushed the fabric off his shoulders and let it fall. Underneath, he was everything I'd imagined and more. Broad chest covered in dark hair, stomach flat and firm, wide shoulders that led to long arms that I wanted wrapped around me all day. Every day.
“You good, Big Guy?”
Holden let out a shaky breath. “I'm terrified.”
Not what I expected. “Of what?”
“Of wanting this too much.” His hands found my waist, thumbs sliding up to flick over my nipples. “Of fucking it up.”
“You won't.” I lifted my head and kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. “I've got you.”
His whole body shuddered under my touch.
That's when I understood what I was dealing with. This wasn't just nerves about a first time with someone new. This was years of isolation, of keeping everyone at arm's length, of not letting anyone close enough to touch him. The way he trembled when I ran my hands down his chest—that wasn't inexperience. That was starvation.
