“With what?” she breathes.
“With me.”
Her pulse jumps under my thumb. A flush creeps up her throat.
“Don’t blush,” I murmur. “I haven’t even started.”
Her breath stutters.
“You carried me like I belonged to you.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
That’s the truth.
She studies my face like she’s trying to find the edge of me.
“You’re older than me.”
“Yes.”
“How much older?”
“Enough.”
Her brows pinch.
“I’m thirty-eight,” I add.
Her breath catches.
“I’m twenty-three.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“It should bother you,” I say, and let the honesty sit where it lands.
Her eyes hold mine, unblinking now.
“I’ve got things in my head that don’t belong near someone like you,” I continue, voice even. “Some nights I wake up like I’m still in it. I don’t always know where I am.”
She doesn’t step back.
I should make her.
“I’ve got demons,” I say plainly. “I don’t pretend otherwise.”
Silence.
Then, soft as a vow, she says, “I don’t care.”
Her breath hitches like she surprised herself.
“You don’t touch a man like me unless you’re ready to be claimed.”
Her hands tighten on my shirt.
