Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt like she's afraid to let go.
I've spent most of my life keeping things contained. Want stays managed. Need stays quiet.
Duty makes that easy, or it did until her.
She's standing there flushed and unsure, still gripping my shirt like she hasn't decided whether to run or lean back in, and something in me loosens.
I know that look.
I've seen it on others and felt nothing.
On her, it lands differently. It pulls.
It makes me want to close the distance again, slowly this time, just to see if she keeps holding on. I let myself feel the heat, the pull, the way she gets under my skin without trying, and it's enough to make me forget every rule that ever worked before.
The nervousness hits her fast, a subtle tremble in her frame, her gaze darting to the side as she bites her lip.
I read it instantly. Consent isn't just a word. It's the line that keeps the mission clean, and she's signaling retreat without a word.
My hand slides from her neck to her shoulder, thumb brushing a soothing circle there, light and grounding, pulling back to give her space without fully releasing the connection.
Easy, soldier.Don't push when she's reeling.
Build the trust first, let her come back on her terms.
The ache in my groin pulses, demanding more, but I lock it down, jaw tightening as I meet her eyes. "Hey," I murmur, the command softened to reassurance. "That was intense, but wedon't have to rush. Let's talk about other stuff, pull you back from the edge a bit."
She exhales and steps back half a pace, but staying close enough that the heat lingers between us like smoke after a blast. "Yeah. Other stuff sounds good." I nod, giving us both a moment to cool off. She leans her hip against the railing and gives me this half-smirk like she's trying to keep her cool but hasn't quite figured out how. "You always sneak up on people like this," she asks with a lopsided smile, "or am I special?"
I arch an eyebrow. "If I wanted to sneak up on you, you wouldn't have noticed."
She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. "God, that sounds exactly like something my dad's friends used to say."
"Iamone of your dad's friends."
She inhales a quick breath. "That's the worst part."
I laugh quietly, and it comes out as a rumble. "You didn't seem too bothered inside."
She narrows her gaze at me. "Inside, you were being… nice."
I lean an inch closer. "And out here?"
Her throat works. Good. She feels this, even if she's trying not to. "Out here?" She pauses, testing the question. "You're… different."
I tilt my head. "Different how?"
She lets her eyes run over me before she catches herself. "You're very… sure of yourself."
"That bother you?" I pick up my bottle and take a long sip.
"No," she says instantly, then winces. "I mean, yes. I mean—oh, my God, I sound like an idiot."
"You don't." I chuckle and take a sip from my beer bottle. "You sound honest."
She laughs under her breath. "Careful. You give me too much credit. I might get ideas."
"Maybe I want you to." Her cheeks flush, and she looks away as if that will save her. It doesn't. I follow her gaze, watch it drift down the yard, then back to me again like she can't help it.
