“You okay?” I finally ask, unable to pretend I don’t notice anymore.
“I’m fine,” he says.
But he doesn’t sound fine.
I press my lips together, staring at the far wall of my living room. The cameras hum softly, a familiar background presence, but the comfort they usually bring isn’t there. He’s distant in a way that feels intentional, like he’s holding something back.
I don’t push. Not yet.
Instead, I tell him I’m tired. That I think I’ll turn in early. It’s only half a lie since I’m actually tired, just not in the way he thinks. I know his routine by now. I know he won’t come to me until I’m in bed, until the apartment is dark and quiet and ready for him.
If he’s pulling away, then I’ll bring him closer.
I shower quickly, dry off, and slip under the covers, naked. The lights are off, the curtains already drawn tight. I lie there on my side, facing the door, my heart beating a little faster than usual. The room feels bigger when I’m alone in it. Empty in a way I don’t like anymore.
Time stretches, slower than usual, and Zane seems to be running late.
Just when I start to wonder if he won’t come at all, I hear the quiet, familiar sound of him moving through my space.
Relief washes through me so strongly it almost makes my chest ache.
I feel his naked body slide into the bed beside me. Without wasting another second, I turn toward him and wrap my arms around him, holding him against my chest. He stills at the contact, like he hadn’t expected me to move first, and that hesitation only makes me more certain.
Something isn’t right.
“Hey,” I whisper, pulling back slightly.
He exhales, a slow breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in his chest all evening. “Hey.”
I lean in and kiss him before I can overthink it. The kiss is soft and slow, just enough to let him know that I’m here. That I want him with me. I shift closer, lowering my mouth to his jaw, then his cheek. I trail down his neck, letting my lips move unhurriedly over his skin.
This isn’t about urgency. It’s about reassurance.
I kiss my way over his shoulder, along his collarbone, over the strong plane of his chest. My hands follow where my mouth goes, learning him again, reminding him–reminding both of us–that we’re real, that this is real.
Gradually, I feel the tension easing out of him. His breathing evens and his body relaxes under my touch. One of his hands settles at my waist, loose but possessive.
I keep kissing him, slower now, more certain, until the last of that rigid restraint melts away and he relaxes beneath my touch. I get bolder, slowly making my way down his big body until I can feel hard flesh brush against my skin. I touch his cock gently, reverently, mesmerized by the column of flesh that rises from a tangle of blond hair at his groin.
Suddenly, everything in me tightens with ravenous greed. I want him like I’ve never had him before.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, not even aware I’ve spoken until the words echo in my ears.
“You don’t know that,” he says, and I can hear a hint of bitterness in his voice. “You haven’t seen me.”
Because you won’t let me.
The thought jumps at me, but I let it go. This night is not about me—it’s about making him feel loved and safe. Just like he’s always done for me.
“But I have touched you,” I say, caressing him gently, feeling his flesh pulse and twitch against my palm. Even his penis feels beautiful, long and thick.
Urged by pure instinct, I run my tongue over the tip. It’s soft, and smooth, and I want more. So much more.
“Oh, Georgia,” he gasps, his body flexing restlessly beneath me. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
Fueled by the plea in his voice, I lower my head once more and suck him between my lips. I don’t know what I’m doing, but judging by the deep moan that reverberates through him, I must be doing something right.
I slide my tongue along his length slowly, carefully. He lets out another soft groan, burying his hands in my hair. He doesn’t push or force my head, he just simply holds me, stroking me.
