The air between us changes, soft at first, then charged, like the moment before a spark catches.
I realize I haven’t looked away from his mouth in several seconds.
I’m the one who moves first.
I turn on the bed, bringing my knees up so I’m facing him, legs folded, our hands still joined. He mirrors me, twisting to face me fully.
My hands buzz with the force of my heartbeat.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I confess. “The timing. The… signals.”
“Then we say everything out loud,” he suggests. “Make it simple.”
“Simple sex,” I say dryly. “With a two-thousand-year-old gladiator and an autistic academic in the middle of an ethics nightmare.”
His eyes crinkle. “Maybe not simple life. But simple words.”
He lifts our joined hands, brushing his mouth against my knuckles, just once. “I want to kiss you,” he says. “Like in stable, but here. Slower. If you want that. Not because today was bad day. Because you want me.”
My breath stutters.
“I do,” I say, and it feels like stepping off a ledge. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for… a while.”
He searches my face for any hint of hesitation.
“Then I kiss you,” he says.
He leans in slowly, giving me all the time in the world to change my mind.
I don’t.
When his mouth meets mine, it feels like everything else goes slightly out of focus.
The first kiss is gentle. Testing. His lips are soft but firm, his hand still wrapped around mine, anchoring me.
I lean into it, into him, free hand landing on his chest. I can feel his heat through the thin barrier of his shirt.
He pulls back a fraction. “Still okay?” he murmurs.
“More than okay,” I whisper. “Again.”
This time, when he kisses me, it’s deeper.
His free hand comes up to cradle my head, thumb resting just in front of my ear. The angle tilts, and I open for him without thinking.
His tongue brushes mine, and my whole body lights up.
I make a sound I didn’t know I could make—small and helpless and absolutely not academic.
He swallows it like a man dying of thirst.
We move at the same moment, closing the last inches between us. Our mouths meet again, deeper, surer, and I move instinctively—sliding into his lap in one slow, deliberate movement. His hands find my hips immediately, warm and sure, not urging, just holding me steady as I settle against him.
He breaks the kiss with a torn sound, breathing hard.
“Too much?” he asks, voice rough.
“No.” My own breathing is a mess. “Not too much. Just… new.”
