Like I might let you.
I kiss her instead of answering.
This time, the kiss has more heat. More need. Her soft sound slips into my mouth, and I take it because she gives it. Only because she gives it.
I walk her back one slow step.
Then another.
The backs of her legs touch the bed, and she stiffens.
I stop instantly.
Her eyes fly open.
“Still with me?”
“Yes.” Her voice shakes. “I just remembered I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Good.”
She blinks. “Good?”
“Means you’ll tell me the truth.”
Her breath catches.
I touch the towel at her hip, over the fabric, nothing more. “Sit down, sweetheart.”
She sits on the edge of the bed, clutching the towel to her chest. I lower myself in front of her, one knee on the floor, then the other.
Her eyes widen. “Ace.”
“I told you.” My hands settle on her knees, light over the towel. “Taking care of you first.”
She swallows hard.
I slide my palms up a few inches, then stop. “Still want my hands on you?”
“Yes.”
“Still want my mouth?”
Her breath stutters.
I wait.
Her answer matters more than my hunger.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I press my mouth to one knee, then the other.
Her fingers twist in the towel, and her breath catches like even this is more than she expected.
That hits me hard.
The innocence. The trust. The way she lets me close even though every inch of her is trembling.
