For a moment, we just stand there in my tiny living room, looking at each other.
"Steph," he says quietly. "I need you to know—this isn't just about wanting you. Though God knows I do." His eyes are dark and intense. "I'm in love with you. Have been for months. And whatever happens tonight, that doesn't change. You’re the woman for me. My person."
My heart stumbles over itself. His person? The woman for him? All of it feels so right. For the first time, I don’t feel trapped by my emotions. I’m safe and I always will be. "I love you too," I whisper. "I think I have for a while now. Just too scared to admit it."
"You don't have to be scared," he says, crossing to me. "Not with me. Never with me."
He cups my face in both hands, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. "Tell me what you need."
"I need you to kiss me," I breathe. "And then I need you not to stop."
His mouth comes down on mine, and it's nothing like the kiss in the truck. That was desperate, urgent, months of pent-up wanting breaking free.
This is different. Slower. Deliberate.
He kisses me like he has all the time in the world. Like he wants to memorize every sound I make, every place that makes me gasp. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, and I melt into him.
I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more. My back hits the wall—when did we move?—and Kevin's body presses against mine, solid and warm and right.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my mouth.
"More than okay," I manage.
His hands slide down to my waist, then lower, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him. I can feel how much he wants me, and the knowledge sends heat pooling low in my belly.
I arch into him, and he makes a rough sound in the back of his throat that goes straight through me.
"Bedroom," I gasp between kisses. "Kevin, I need—"
"Tell me." His mouth moves to my jaw, my neck, finding all the sensitive places that make me shiver. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."
"You," I breathe. "Just you."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine. "You're sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
That's all it takes. Kevin's hands slide down to the backs of my thighs, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and he carries me toward the bedroom.
He kisses me the whole way—slow, deep kisses that make my head spin and my body ache with want.
When we reach my bed, he sets me down on the edge of the mattress. I expect him to follow me down, but he kneels in front of me instead, his hands on my knees.
"I want to take my time with you," he says, his voice rough. "I want to learn every inch of you. Every sound you make. Every place that makes you feel good." His hands slide up my thighs, and I shiver. "But I need you to tell me if something doesn't feel right. If you need me to slow down or stop. Can you do that for me?"
The care in his voice, the way he's making sure I know I'm in control—it makes my throat tight with emotion.
"I can do that," I whisper.
"Good." He leans forward and presses a kiss to my knee. Then higher, to my thigh. "Because I plan to make you feel so good, sweetheart. So damn good."
His hands find the hem of my shirt, and he pauses, waiting for permission. I lift my arms, and he pulls it off slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping something precious.
His eyes darken when he sees the simple lace bra underneath.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "You're so beautiful, Steph."
I reach for him, pulling him up and into another kiss. My hands find the hem of his shirt, and this time I'm the one pulling fabric over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest and abdomen.
