“Good.” She pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time. “I don’t want you to let go.”
He carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom.
The room was small, barely fitting her bed and the secondhand dresser she’d found at Posy’s shop. But he didn’t seem to notice the cramped quarters or the mismatched furniture. His entire attention was focused on her, as he stripped off the rest of her clothes and laid her out on the worn quilt like something precious.
“You’re staring,” she whispered, echoing their earlier exchange.
“I’m appreciating.”
He hesitated again as she reached for him. “I don’t want to go too fast.”
“Ben. You’ve spent three weeks going too slow. I promise to let you know if you need to pump the brakes.”
His laugh was shaky. “Pump the brakes. You sound like a driving instructor.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He obliged. He moved slower this time, lingering over her neck and breasts and stomach before settling between her thighs again. He took his time, exploring every inch of her with a reverence that made her breath catch in her throat. There was nothing rushed or frantic about it; this wasn’t just sex, she realized with a dizzying jolt. This was worship.
“You’re shaking,” she murmured, her fingers threading through the soft fur on his shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he admitted. “Dreaming about it.”
“Good dreams, I hope.”
“The best.” He shifted, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. “And the worst.”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. The restraint. The frustration. The constant battle between what he wanted and what he thought he should do.
“Let me make it better,” she said.
He didn’t answer with words. He answered with actions, with the slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue and the careful pressure of his fingers. He watched her face as he brought her to the brinkagain, his eyes dark with concentration. When she tumbled over the edge, her cry was softer this time, a drawn-out sigh of pleasure that seemed to break something open inside him.
He kissed her then, slow and deep, letting her taste herself on his lips. She reached between them, wrapping her fingers around the thick length of him. He groaned, but when she reached for the button of his jeans, he captured her hand.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you.”
She wanted to scream with frustration, but she also understood. This was Ben doing things right. This was Ben proving to himself that he wasn’t the out-of-control creature he’d been before. And his efforts to please her were very, very good. Good enough that she finally understood what all the fuss was about regarding rabbit Others.
“Impressive,” she murmured against his throat afterward, pleasantly boneless and thoroughly satisfied despite the technical incompleteness. “Really, genuinely impressive.”
“Don’t let it go to my head.”
“Too late.”
He laughed—a real laugh, warm and unguarded. She felt it rumble through his chest, felt the way his arms tightened around her like he was afraid she might float away.
“Stay,” she whispered.
His whole body went still. “Sara?—”
“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m asking you to stay tonight, in my bed, instead of sneaking outlike you always do.” She tilted her head to meet his eyes. “Can you do that?”
The conflict was visible on his face—instinct versus caution, want versus fear—but something had shifted between them. The dam had broken, and there was no putting the water back.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I can do that.”
She smiled, tucking herself more firmly against his side. His arm curved around her, claws gentle against her spine, and she felt something in her chest settle into place.
