I clap. "And he does know how to laugh!"
His grin grows. "Do I really come across as if I don't know how to laugh?"
I shrug. "Sometimes. You're a pretty serious guy."
His face falls. "I deal with serious issues."
My jaw tightens. I blurt out, "The session hit harder than I expected."
His hand settles on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize I was pushing too much."
"It's not your fault. I...I just haven't talked about them leaving in a long time. Everything turned super loud in my head when I got home and was alone," I admit, feeling the shame and regret of giving in to my self-harm habits.
His thumb grazes my collarbone, and tingles shoot down my spine. "I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself worse."
Words scrape out of me. "I wanted to."
"I know," he says quietly, looking at me with more concern than anyone ever has pinned on me.
My chest shifts, sharp and fragile. I ramble, "Can you please get comfortable? It's making me anxious like you're going to leave. And I want to prove to you that I can respect your boundary and not cross the line even though I'm super tempted. I need to. Not just for you but for me."
His body stiffens. Torment and debate fill his expression.
"Please," I beg.
He finally rises, turns toward me, and unbuttons his shirt.
My throat turns dry, then waters. Every button he releases exposes more skin and his taut abs, turning my body into an inferno.
He releases his cuff links, then puts them on the nightstand. He shrugs out of his shirt and carefully lays it on my chair, his torso gleaming in the dim light of my bedroom.
"Now take off your pants," I rasp, my pulse skyrocketing, and adrenaline pounding just as quickly.
His jaw ticks.
"Let me prove to you how good a girl I can be for you," I murmur.
His Adam's apple bobs. He kicks off his shoes, then his hands move to his waist, removing his belt, then his pants. They fall to the floor with a thud, jarring a rush so intense, my core throbs, and dizziness hits me.
I sit against the headboard, dragging my eyes over his body, then landing on the bulge trying to escape his boxers. I joke, "I didn't think you were a tighty-whities kind of guy."
He chuckles so hard, his eyes water.
I laugh too, relieved to reduce some of the tension. When I calm down, I pat the bed. "Come on. Sleep is important. Doctor's orders!"
He cautiously slides beside me, keeping an inch between us.
I ask, "Can we at least cuddle?"
An internal debate flares across his sharp features.
"Just cuddle. Nothing else," I add.
"Nothing else?" he questions.
I shake my head and hold out my finger. "Pinky promise."
He grins, loops his pinky through mine, and shakes. "Okay."
