“I think you’re more than you let people see,” she says softly, her palm pressing more firmly over the tattoo.
The words are simple, but they hit much harder than anything else tonight.
I cover her hand with mine. Not to move it, but to keep it there.
I let out a slow breath and brush my thumb along her knuckles, my smirk settling onto my mouth because I do not know how to be anything else.
It’s a reflex. It’s armor. If I joke, smirk, or tilt my head just right, no one pays too much attention to what’s underneath.
“Don’t start rewriting my reputation, Bells.”
“I’m not,” she murmurs. “I just… see you.”
I reach out and push her hair back from her face. She leans into the touch without thinking.
I watch her for a second longer and my hand drops to the zipper of her jacket.
“Sit up,” I say softly. My voice is steady and controlled, but nothing about it reveals that my pulse is still pounding.
She shifts beneath me, propping herself up on her elbows so I can slide the jacket off her shoulders. The mattress sinks as she moves. Her eyes stay fixed on my face the whole time.
I move slowly, peeling the fabric down her arms inch by inch, my knuckles brush her skin as I go. Her breath catches when my fingers skim the inside of her wrist.
I feel it.
I register every reaction.
When the jacket slips off, I toss it aside without looking.
Her boots are next.
I lean back slightly, giving her space, even though my body doesn’t want to move far. I hook my fingers around the heel of one boot and carefully slide it off.
She lifts her leg to help me, while watching my face the entire time.
I set the boot on the floor, then do the same with the other.
“Up,” I murmur again.
She lifts her hips after I unbutton her jeans. My fingers stay steady as I slowly slide the zipper down, gradually peeling the denim off her legs inch by inch.
She shifts, helping me.
I don’t rush or make a spectacle of it. I undress her the way I want to touch her. Carefully, as if she could bruise if I grab too hard.
When the denim slides away and she leans back against my sheets in black lace, my lungs freeze and my mind goes blank. All the confident cocky lines I usually have prepared disappear.
I have chased curves, heat, and quick releases without hesitation. I have had girls arch under me, begging for more, and it never cost me anything.
But this.
She is not acting or positioning her body to impress me. She is not attempting to appear like some fantasy she believes I desire.
She just lies there.
Hair spilled over my pillow. Eyes steady on mine. Chest rising and falling a little faster now.
My gaze slowly drifts over her, to the shape of her waist, the power in her thighs, and the slight tremble she tries to hide and fails.
