“Then do it.” The words are barely air.
He freezes. “Don’t challenge me,” he warns.
“Why? Afraid I won’t be able to handle it?”
That does it. His mouth crashes against mine. Not gentle. But not frantic either.
Controlled. Measured.
Like he’s testing himself.
My hands grip his shoulders. Heat surges through me, sharp and bright.
He kisses me deeper, hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back.
For a moment, the world narrows to breath and heat and the steady thud of his heart under my palm.
Then he pulls away.
Abrupt.
Like he’s touched something that burns.
“This is exactly what I meant,” he says, breathing hard.
“What?”
“You deserve someone uncomplicated.”
“I don’t want uncomplicated.”
“You think that now.”
His hands fall from me. The space between us feels colder than it did before.
“I won’t be the man who takes advantage of you,” he says.
“I’m not being taken advantage of.”
“You’re young.”
“Stop saying that like it’s a flaw.”
“It’s not a flaw,” he snaps. “It’s a fact. You were in high school when I was putting my wife in the ground.”
“And you being widowed is a fact. And you being a father is a fact. And I still want you.”
The words hang heavy in the air. He looks at me like I’ve just struck him.
“You don’t know what that means,” he says quietly.
“Then tell me.”
He shakes his head. “You think this is about restraint?” he asks. “It’s not. It’s about permanence.”
My chest tightens.
“You don’t get to touch me like that and then act like I’m temporary,” I say.
