Not rushed.
Never rushed.
Because this?
This isn’t something to get through.
This is something to remember.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I tell her, because she needs to hear it. Because I need to say it.
Her breath catches.
“You keep saying that like I don’t know what I look like,” she says, trying to deflect.
I tilt my head, studying her.
“You don’t,” I reply simply. “Not the way I do.”
That lands.
It resonates inside her.
I see it.
Feel it.
And instead of pushing, instead of crowding her with more—I soften.
Just enough.
Just enough to keep her with me.
Because she asked for right now.
So I give her right now.
But I don’t give her less.
I give her everything I can without crossing that line she drew.
And yeah, part of me is already adjusting.
Already thinking ahead.
Because if she wants to keep this physical?
Fine, I’ll meet her there.
I’ll show her exactly what that means.
Show her what it feels like to be wanted like this.
To be seen like this.
To be touched like she’s the only thing that matters.
“Still think this is just tonight?” I murmur, brushing my forehead against hers.
