Three days of sleeping beside her and not touching her beyond kisses is driving me out of my mind.
I know why we're waiting. I know it's the right thing to do. She's been through trauma. We're building trust. Neither of us wants to rush something that matters this much.
But every morning I wake up with her body pressed against mine, soft and warm and smelling like my sheets, and my cock is so hard it aches. Every night she falls asleep in my arms, her breath evening out while I lie there counting the hours until dawn.
Tonight is different.
We're on the couch after dinner, her legs draped across my lap while she reads one of my books. I'm pretending to review security protocols on my tablet, but I haven't absorbed a single word in twenty minutes. I'm too aware of the weight of her thighs, the curve of her calves, the way she absently plays with her hair while she reads.
"You're staring," she says without looking up.
"I'm observing."
She smiles. "For you they’re the same thing."
I set the tablet aside. "What are you reading?"
"Some thriller about a retired CIA operative who finds love in an unexpected place." She finally looks at me, amusement in her eyes. "Sound familiar?"
"I'm not CIA."
"Close enough." She closes the book and tosses it on the coffee table. "And I think I've figured out the ending anyway."
"Yeah?"
"The grumpy operative realizes he's been denying himself happiness for no good reason, and he and the woman he's protecting finally stop dancing around each other."
"That's a spoiler."
"That's a prediction." She shifts, swinging her legs off my lap to face me properly. "Based on extensive research."
My hand finds her knee, thumb tracing circles on the inside of her thigh. "What kind of research?"
"The observational kind." Her breath hitches slightly as my hand moves higher. "I've been taking notes."
"And what do your notes tell you?"
"That you want me." She says it plainly, no coyness, no games. "That you've been holding back because you think it's the right thing to do. And that you're about five minutes away from snapping."
She's not wrong. My hand stills on her thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh.
"I don't want to push you," I say.
"You're not pushing. I'm pulling." She leans forward, her lips brushing my jaw. "I've been ready, Deck. I've been waiting for you to stop being noble."
"I'm not being noble. I'm being careful."
"I don't want careful." Her mouth finds my ear, her breath hot against my skin. "I want you."
The words break something loose in my chest. I turn my head and capture her mouth, kissing her hard. She responds instantly, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. The kiss is hungry, desperate, nothing like the gentle exchanges of the past few days.
I pull her into my lap so she's straddling me, her thighs on either side of my hips. The position puts her exactly where I need her, her core pressed against my cock. She grinds down, and I groan into her mouth.
"Bedroom," I manage against her lips.
"Here is fine."
"Bedroom." I grip her hips to still her movement. "I want you in my bed. I want to take my time."
