“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I tell him, needing him to understand. “I do. So much.” I cup his cheek, loving the scrape of his stubble against my palm. “It’s just… overwhelming. Like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and I know I want to jump into the sea below, but my body won’t let me.”
Josh captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that sends electricity shooting up my arm. “No jumping required,” he says. “We can wade in the water slowly. Or sit on the beach and just watch the waves. Whatever you need.”
I laugh at that, my moment of overwhelm already fading under his gentle understanding. “How are you so patient?”
“I’m not,” he admits with a rueful smile. “Evidence shows I just freaked you out with how much I want you. But it doesn’t have to be today.”
I study his face, how his eyes seem to shine just for me, the flecks of gold in his irises, the fullness of his bottom lip. He’s beautiful outside and so much more inside, in a way that cracks open the locked room where I kept all my wantings. And he’s choosing me, choosing us, even after I pushed him away again and again.
“You’re going to find out,” I say, tracing patterns on his chest over his T-shirt, “that living with a child means you learn to seize the child-free moments in the house. They’re undiscussed sexy times.”
His eyes darken, and his smile turns wicked. “Oh, really?” he asks, voice roughening. “And what do these sexy times entail?”
I lean closer, feeling bold. “Anything you want.” I kiss him, just a peck, and brush my nose with his, growing serious again. “I just need to take it slow. I might get overwhelmed. Or cry. I might need to stop at any point. You have to be patient with me.”
He smiles again, still touching me, the heat in his gaze tempered by a tender wonder. “I can do slow,” he promises.
To demonstrate, he presses a feather-light kiss to my forehead, then the bridge of my nose, my cheekbone, working his way down until he reaches my mouth. The kiss is sweet and unhurried, a question rather than a demand. I answer by parting my lips, inviting him deeper, and he accepts with a groan that vibrates through me.
His hands stay placed—one cupping my face, the other at my waist—as if he’s afraid to push too far. I appreciate his restraint, but I also want more. I guide his hand under the hem of my shirt, pressing his palm against the bare skin of my back. He makes a sound that’s half surprise, half pleasure, his fingers splaying wide.
He caresses and kisses every innocent place of me. My wrists, the inside of my elbows, the hollow of my throat—each touch slow, gentle, giving me time to adjust to the sensation of being wanted again.
We undress each other in increments, each new patch of skin a discovery. I don’t even realize we’re both down to our underwear until his hand skims along my ribs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Every cell of my skin is alive, electric with anticipation.
His fingers trace the edge of my bra, and panic seizes me. Not because I don’t want him to continue, but because of the evidence of my past he’ll find there—the single word inked over my heart: Daniel.
“Wait,” I whisper, placing my hand over his.
Josh freezes, searching my face. “Too fast?”
I shake my head, gathering my courage. “I need to show you something.” I push up on my elbows, pulling aside my hair, and lower the cup of my bra just enough for the writing to be visible. I study Josh’s face as his gaze drops to the tattoo.
He stares at it for a long moment, and I hold my breath, waiting for… what? Jealousy? Resentment? Neither comes. Instead, he bends his head and presses his lips to the inked skin, right over Daniel’s name.
“Does it bother you?” I whisper through the tremor that feather-light kiss gives me.
“No,” he says simply, lifting his eyes to mine. “It’s part of you. All of you is beautiful to me.”
The tears come then, not from grief or guilt, but from overwhelming gratitude. How did I get so lucky twice in a lifetime? To find a man whose love is generous enough to embrace even the parts of me that still belong to someone else.
“I love you,” I tell him, the words breaking free like they can’t be contained anymore. “I love you.”
His smile is like watching the sun rise. “I love you, too.” He pulls me into his arms again. “Thank you for trusting me with all of you.”
Emotion chokes me, but desire is right behind it, blazing through the cracks. “Don’t let me go,” I whisper.
“Never. You’re safe. Here. With me. I don’t want to rush you, Lily.”
“You’re not rushing me; you’re being perfect.” I thread my fingers through his hair to guide his mouth back to mine.
Josh takes his time, mapping my body with careful hands and reverent lips. There’s no pressure, only the steady build of heat between us, rising like a tide.
His touch sketches new constellations across my skin, connecting places never charted before, drawing me into a universe where he’s my center of gravity.
I touch him too, learning the planes and angles of his body. The hard muscles of his chest, the ridge of his spine, the sensitive spot below his ear that makes him shiver when I kiss it. Each discovery is a gift. Proof that I’m still capable of this, of wanting and being wanted.
When he moves above me again, I’m not afraid anymore. I’m ready. He watches my face with such tenderness that I have to close my eyes against the intensity of it.
