"I don't know how to be something else."
I shift off the arm of the chair and into his lap, straddling him. His hands come up automatically, settling on my hips, and I feel him tense beneath me.
"What are you doing?"
"Helping you get out of your head." I cup his face in my hands, the same way he held mine that first night he kissed me. "You spend too much time up here. Thinking. Planning. Calculating. Sometimes you just need to feel."
"I don't—"
"I know. You don't feel things. You weren't designed for it." I lean in, brush my lips against his. "But I think that's changing. And I think it scares the shit out of you."
"It does."
"Good." I kiss him, soft at first, then deeper. He opens for me, lets me lead, and the surrender in it makes my cock throb. "I want to try something."
"What?"
"I want you to let go. Completely." I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "I want you to let me take care of you for once."
His hands tighten on my hips. "Jonah—"
"You don't have to say yes. But I think you need this. I think you need to not be in control for a little while." I trace my thumb across his lower lip. "Do you trust me?"
The question hangs between us. It's not a small ask. Jagger doesn't trust anyone. Doesn't let anyone close enough to hurt him. The walls he's built are the only thing that's kept him alive.
But he's been letting me in. Inch by inch, day by day. Letting me see the cracks. Letting me touch the places he's kept hidden.
"Yes," he says finally. "I trust you."
I kiss him again, harder this time. He groans into my mouth, and I feel his cock stiffening beneath me, pressing up against my ass. I roll my hips, grinding down on him, and he makes a sound I've never heard before. Desperate. Needy.
"Stand up," I say.
He obeys. I slide off his lap and take his hand, leading him to the center of the library. The window behind us is floorto ceiling, the city sprawled out below like a glittering carpet. Anyone could look up and see us. The thought sends a thrill through me.
"Take off your shirt."
His fingers move to the buttons. Slow. Deliberate. He's used to undressing for me now, but there's something different in his eyes tonight. Vulnerability. Anticipation.
The shirt falls to the floor. His chest is pale in the moonlight, the muscles tight beneath the skin. I can see the faint scars I've traced with my fingers, the marks of a life spent fighting.
"Now your pants."
He hesitates. Just for a second. Then his hands move to his belt, and he strips the rest of his clothes with the same robotic motions. He stands before me naked, cock hard, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.
I circle him slowly, letting my eyes travel over every inch. He's beautiful. I've thought it before, but I've never said it out loud. The lean muscle. The sharp lines of his hips. The way his cock twitches under my gaze.
"Beautiful," I murmur, and watch the word hit him like a blow.
"Jonah—"
"Don't talk." I stop behind him, press my chest against his back. He's taller than me, but like this, with my arms wrapped around him, he feels smaller. Breakable. "Just feel."
I run my hands down his chest, his stomach, skipping over his cock to trace the insides of his thighs. He shudders, pressingback against me, and I feel his ass against my still-clothed erection.
"Do you know what I want?" I ask against his ear.
"Tell me."
