I swallow.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I want you,” I whisper.
She exhales shakily and steps into my space.
We don’t rush.
We don’t collide.
She lifts her hands to my chest and feels my heartbeat under her palms.
“You’re shaking again,” she murmurs.
“Not from fear.”
Her mouth curves faintly.
“Good.”
She kisses me.
Slow.
Hot.
Deliberate.
Not like a prize.
Not like a goddamn coping mechanism.
Like a woman choosing a man who almost broke the world for her and didn’t.
My hands come up to her waist, careful, reverent, my palms hot against the curve of her hips.
She makes a small sound into my mouth that goes straight to my cock.
I groan.
“Too much,” I murmur.
She shakes her head.
“Not enough.”
She straddles my lap, my injured shoulder forgotten between us, my cock already hard and aching against her inner thigh.
“Tell me to stop,” I say.
“I’m not going to,” she whispers.
“Tell me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
