And I’m staring at him—at the breadth of his chest, the hard lines of muscle, the way he looks like something built to take and protect all at once.
My Bear surges.
Mine.
The word hits hard.
Loud.
Demanding.
And my heart?
It whispers the same thing.
But I push it down.
Not tonight.
Tonight is about choice.
About me choosing this. Choosing him.
His hands move to the ties of my dress, fingers rougher now, less patient—but still careful with me.
Always careful.
“Now’s the time to tell me if you changed your mind, Cookie. Go on, tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my lips, even as he loosens the strings.
I shake my head.
“Don’t you dare, Rob. I-I want this.”
That’s all the permission he needs.
The dress slips from my shoulders, slow and deliberate, his gaze following every inch of skin revealed like he’s committing it to memory.
Not greedy.
Not rushed.
Reverent.
And that just does something to me.
Turns me into a puddle of ‘yes please’ at his feet.
We move together after that.
Not in a frantic rush.
Not like we’re trying to get somewhere.
But like we already know where this is going.
Hands exploring.
Learning.
