She waits, watching as I unzip my jeans and push them down my legs, dropping them to the floor.
I hold out my hand, and she takes it, climbing over me carefully, awkwardly, and we both let out quiet, nervous laughs when it doesn’t quite work the way either of us expects. I stay still, letting her set the pace, letting her decide the distance between us.
She leans close, breath warm against my mouth. “I can’t get closer than this,” she says softly, tapping her bump.
I smile. “That’s okay,” I whisper, lifting my head just enough to meet her.
Our lips touch, slow, cautious, testing. I don’t deepen it. I don’t take.I wait.
When she doesn’t pull away, when she stays right there, I feel something inside my chest loosen. Like I’ve been holding my breath for months and only just remembered how to exhale.
She takes my hands, guiding them slowly to her chest. I trail my fingers over her collar bone, focussing on her breathing as I move lower to her breasts. Her body doesn’t tense. Instead, a moan escapes her lips as she allows her head to fall back in pleasure. But I keep my focus on her the entire time, checking for any sign she’s not okay.
And when she lines me up at her entrance, I hold my breath. She smiles, lacing our fingers together. “Breathe,” she tells me, sinking down, stealing the air from my lungs completely.
We move slowly, pausing often, checking in without words.
At one point, she stills completely, eyes closed, and I stop with her. We wait like that—connected, quiet—until she nods once and whispers, “Okay.”
It isn’t rushed. It isn’t perfect. But it’sreal.
Our fingers lace together as she moves faster, chasing the feeling. I stiffen, the warmth starting in my toes and rushing through my body. I groan, shuddering as the orgasm rips from me. Eden follows, her cheeks flushed as she pants through her own.
And when she’s finished, she collapses beside me with a breathless laugh, like she’s just crossed a finish line she didn’t know she could reach.
“I did it,” she says, voice shaky but proud. “We did it.”
I laugh softly, brushing my lips against her temple. “Yeah,” I agree. “You did.”
She curls into my chest, fitting there like she always has. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“No,” I say quietly, wrapping my arms around her without hesitation. “Thankyou. For trusting me.”
“I didn’t think I’d enjoy it,” she admits after a moment. “Not like that.”
“I’m glad you did,” I say simply.
She shifts, already half-asleep. “I know it doesn’t mean I’m fixed. Next time might be different.”
“That’s okay,” I tell her. “There doesn’t have tobea next time until you want one.”
She hums softly, fingers tracing over the tattoo on my chest.Her name.
“Sleep,” I murmur, pulling the covers up around us.
EDEN
I stare up at the ceiling. The sun rose hours ago, pale light spilling through the curtains, and Kade was up around the time the birds began singing. I pretended to be asleep as he slipped out quietly, careful not to wake me.
We had sex.
No.
We made love.
The real kind. The kind I used to think only existed in books or in other people’s lives. The kind built on trust instead of hunger. On patience instead of need.
That was the first time it’s ever been like that for us.
