“I don’t know how to do this,” he says against my mouth.
“What?” I ask, high on the warmth of him. “Kiss?”
“Kiss. More. Any of it.” A pause, like he’s choosing what to admit. “I’ve never done it.”
The words take a second to make sense…then they do.
“You’ve never—” My voice comes out quietly. “You’ve never kissed anyone? Never had…sex?”
“No,” he says. “I don’t like being touched.” He exhales. “Makes things…difficult.”
Oh.
That explains it.
The hesitation. The way he learns as he goes. The way every movement is discovered instead of remembered. This isn’t natural to him. He’s stepping into it for the first time, without knowing where it will end.
He isn’tbadat this. He’snewto it.
All this time, I’ve been the one pushing into his space. Getting under his skin. And now, finally, he’s letting me. His hand is at my neck. His mouth close enough that I can feel the shape of his lips. He’s allowing me to see a part of him no one else has.
Fragile.
Breakable.
I could take advantage of this, his vulnerability, but suddenly I don’t want to. If this is going to be his first time experiencing these things. Closeness. Intimacy. I want it to be good for him.
I want to give. Not take.
He deserves that.
“Have…have you?” he asks.
“Me?” I say, grateful for the darkness hiding my face. “Yeah. A couple of times.”
“What’s his name?” Carrson’s voice drops. “Where does he live?”
“Why?” I ask, confused.
“So I can kill him,” he says. No pause. No exaggeration. That’s how I know he’s serious. He’s already working it out. Distances. Timing. The cleanest way to do it.
“It wasn’t anything,” I say quickly. “Some guy from my grief support group. His sister had died too. We were both trying to feel normal.” I shake my head. “It barely counts.”
The chain bites into my wrists, a reminder of where I am, what he could do to me if he wanted, but, for now, he’s the one holding back, and I don’t like it.
I shuffle my feet impatiently. My chains give a restless rattle. “You can touch me,” I say, quieter, coaxing instead of pushing. “I’m not going anywhere.” When he doesn’t move, I let the pretense fall away. I let him hear it, the truth I haven’t said out loud.
I want this. Him. No matter the cost.
“Please,” I beg, voice trembling.
The kiss is less careful now. Firmer, but not rough. As if he’s starting to trust what he’s doing. I meet him halfway, brushing my mouth against his instead of rushing it. Letting time draw out so he can find the rhythm on his own.
Carrson’s hand returns to my cheek, then drifts, following the path his dagger took but soft rather than sharp. Warm skin instead of cold steel. Danger turned to desire.
The backs of his fingers skim down my neck, featherlight, until they reach my collarbone.
He pauses there.
