“Hey,” I murmur, one hand splayed across her back and the other cupping the back of her head. “Breathe for me, babe.”
She does—ragged and catching on every inhale. She’s half on my lap and half curled against my chest with her head ducking into my neck. It should feel like too much, but it doesn’t.
It feels inevitable.
It feels like some part of me has been waiting to hold her exactly like this.
“Strong looks good on you, Scottie,” I whisper against her hair. She pulls back, tear filled eyes meeting mine. “But you can put it down.”
“And what if you see too much?”
“I already have,” I answer honestly, reaching up to swipe a loose tear from her cheek with the back of my finger. “And I’m still here.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the lie and hoping she doesn’t find one. She won’t because it’s the truth.
I’m still here.
I want to be here.
I’m finding that I’ve slowly become addicted to her.
“You know you’re allowed to just…be,” I say honestly, making sure she understands she can be herself with me. “Mess included.”
She stares at me as if she’s trying to decide whether she believes me. My heart pounds loudly in my chest, and I know she can feel it. Her hand lifts, and she hesitates before cupping the side of my face. Her touch is so light, but it’s undeniable.
“Everyone gets a version of me. Mostly the put-together one.”
“And what do I get?”
She swallows, still holding me. “The one I’m scared to hand over.”
“That’s the one I want.”
“Even if it’s ugly?”
I reach up, this time taking her head between my hands. Hers fall from my face and I bring our mouths inches apart. “Especially if it’s ugly, Scottie.”
Her breath catches in her throat.
The air between us sparkles with electricity. Sharp enough to raise goose bumps along my skin.
“I don’t know who I am when the cameras are gone.”
“Then let me be the place you find out.”
She shifts again, just enough that the movement pulls her closer to me. Her thighs press against my hips, sending blood right to my cock. My fingers tighten in her hair. Everything in me narrows to the shape of her mouth, the tremble in her breath, and the way her eyes search mine like she’s waiting for permission.
“That time upstairs…when we crossed the line. Do you think it was a mistake?” she asks, the question nearly knocking the air out of me.
“No,” I answer quickly, shaking my head. “You’re…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “You’re the first thing that’s ever felt as if you could wreck me and save me in the same breath.”
She looks at me with wide, glassy eyes. The ones that make me want to fix every crack in her even though some part of me knows she’s not mine to fix. Her hands fist in my shirt near my collarbone, knuckles brushing my skin, still holding on like she doesn’t know how to let go.
And god help me, I don’t know how to either.
I want to kiss her.
I want to take the fear out of her voice.
