The question hits me in the chest because it’s the same question she asked last night in a different way. Not about what happened, or what we are, or what do we do now?
But what do you need?
I exhale slowly. “You.”
Her expression doesn’t change into surprise or pride. It stays steady, like she already knew.
She takes my hand and leads me down the hall like there’s no question about it.
When we reach her bedroom, she turns toward me and stops, close enough that my breath catches.
“I’m not going to ask you to talk about it tonight,” she says quietly. “I just want you here.”
My jaw tightens. Honesty rises, immediate and raw.
My jaw tightens. Honesty rises, immediate and raw. “I can do that.”
“Good,” she says. “That’s all I’m asking.”
That does something to me. I lean in and kiss her slowly. A kiss that feels like a decision instead of a reaction.
Her hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, and I don’t feel brittle anymore. I don’t feel braced.
I trust her.
And for the first time, I’m not waiting for it to disappear.
Her eyes soften. “You don’t have to guard yourself with me,” she says softly.
I don’t have a response for that, not with words. So I answer with my hands, with the way I touch her like she’s real and here and something I’ll never lose again.
We undress each other without ceremony. No jokes and no distractions. Just skin on skin and the quiet sound of fabric shifting to the floor.
When I ease her down onto the bed, she reaches for me immediately, fingers curling at my shoulders like she’s anchoring us both.
I kiss her again, deeper, and I feel her relax underneath me in a way that makes my throat burn.
This isn’t desperate or frantic.
It’s intentional.
I take my time, because control doesn’t have to mean distance. It can mean being present and focused.
Sarah’s breathing changes as I move over her, mouth and hands learning what she needs tonight, listening to every shift in her body like it matters, like it’s sacred.
Because it is.
When I finally sink into her, slow and steady, her eyes lock on mine and stay there, and something in me cracks open in a way that doesn’t hurt.
It just releases.
I move with purpose, not chasing an edge or trying to outrun anything, and for once that feels enough.
Sarah’s nails drag lightly down my back, and she whispers my name like it’s both comfort and claim.
I kiss her mouth, then her temple, then her throat, holding her close so she feels how real I am, how present I’m choosing to be.
When she tightens around me, when her breath breaks and her body trembles, I keep my forehead pressed to hers and murmur, “I’ve got you.”
