My nipples harden against my skin, and I hiss when he moves my palms over them.
He grunts, eyes flashing with his beast in the mirror’s reflection. Then he’s on the move again, pushing my hands down to the soft swell of my belly.
“This is part of you, I adore,” he says quietly. “It’s not something to hide. Not something to apologize for.”
My chest tightens.
Because no one’s ever said it like that before.
No one’s ever made it feel like something good.
His voice drops again, roughening at the edges.
“And I need you to know, Hadley,” he adds, his thumbs brushing lightly over my hands, “there’s nothing about you I’d change.”
Something inside me wobbles.
Dangerously.
I shake my head a little, like I can push that feeling away before it takes root.
But he doesn’t let me drift.
Doesn’t let me retreat.
He keeps me right there.
Present.
With him.
His hands guide mine again, lower this time, and my breath catches, my body already reacting, already aware.
He presses them over my mound. His long fingers pushing mine so I’m touching myself intimately.
My cheeks heat when I feel the flood of moisture that leaks from my slit. I can scent it—my arousal.
And I know he can, too.
“And this? See this pretty, perfect little pussy right here? That’s it,” he murmurs, closer now, his voice right at my ear. “This is where I need you to stop thinking and just feel.”
I close my eyes for a second.
Because I can’t not feel it.
The warmth.
The tension.
The way my body answers him without permission.
And when I open them again?
He’s moving.
Lowering himself in front of me, his gaze never leaving mine.
There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at me.
