He doesn’t say a word. But I hear him move. A pause, the faint rustle of paper.
My note. Is he reading it?
Heat scorches my cheeks. I want to disappear, sink through the mattress, or just straight-up die. I brace for laughter, or the sound of him walking out. But he does neither.
Another single step.
The bed dips, slow and deliberate, the mattress shifting beneath his weight. The motion tugs the sheet even lower on my hip, exposing more of me, but I stay perfectly still.
His presence aches, like something I’ve needed for so long it almost hurts. The worst part? My nipples are already hard, skin buzzing with want, every nerve ending straining for his hands.
Debora’s voice tries to worm in, all sneers and venom. “You’d probably cry if anyone ever touched you. Fucking pathetic.” I shut it down. Not tonight.
Tonight, I want to believe I could be wanted. Even if it’s a lie.
I imagine him there, sitting, just watching. I can’t see, but I feel his gaze, hot and heavy, tracing every line, every flaw and freckle. It should make me curl in on myself, but instead it drawssomething tight and hopeful right through my center, low and insistent between my legs.
I listen for his breathing, steady, deep, but there’s a rough edge to it.
What does he see when he looks at me? Does he even like what he sees?
I want to beg him to say something, but I can’t force the words out. It’s like cement in my throat. If he doesn’t speak soon, I might lose my mind.
Then, finally, his voice, so close it shocks me. Low and warm and rough, like he’s sharing a secret just for me.
“You want me to touch you?” His voice is low and dangerous-sounding, making my whole body lock up, lungs tight.
I nod, and his palm makes a slow slide over silk, the sound whisper-soft, giving me space, every second an open door if I want out.
The heat of his closeness radiates up my leg. A wall of warmth just waiting, hovering, letting me decide. He’s so still I can feel the question in the air.
He gently caresses my ankle, and the simple act makes my whole body jump before I finally give in, letting myself enjoy it. From there, he begins to work his way up my calf, his actions so gentle, patient. Like he’s savoring every inch. I grip the sheet tighter, twisting it in my fist. This is all I ever wanted. Not the sex, not even the high of getting off, but this. Someone asking, like I matter.
“You’re beautiful.”
There’s a rumble in his chest, deep, almost animal, and for a second I feel like I’ve got the power for once.
He brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder, the barest touch, fingertips so light I shiver, my skin sparking everywhere he goes.
Right now, he could do anything to me, and I’d let him.
No more hiding. No more shame.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
And just like that, I’m done holding on. I let go, finally, and let someone else take over, for the first time in my life.
Chapter 3
Ben
I want to go slow,take my time, make her remember every second, but the hunger is there, squeezing my ribs.
I start at her shoulder, just my thumb on bare skin, tracing the fine line where her neck meets her collarbone. Her pulse jumps under my touch. Fuck, she’s wound up tight as a cord. Most women try to fake calm, but she’s trembling for real. It’s honest, and I fucking love it.
I lean in, lips finding that spot right behind her ear, soft enough to make her jerk, then shudder. I drag my nose down her throat, lips ghosting along her skin. Every touch is slow, deliberate, like I’m painting her to memory.
Her hands flex in the sheets again. She’s not sure if she should fight or surrender. I don’t mind either way. I want her to feel every second of this.
