“That’s not a real answer.” My pulse races as his gaze holds mine.
His tongue sweeps across his lips just before he says, “It’s the only one I’ve got.”
We stand here staring at each other, neither of us knowing what to say next. We’re too close and yet…not close enough. The moment stretches like a wire about to snap and something shifts inside me.
He’s not pushing.
He’s not expecting.
He’s just…here.
With me.
And I feel safe with him. Safe enough that I want to know what it feels like to stop holding back. To stop second guessing. Before I tell myself not to, I grab the front of his henley and pull him down.
And I kiss him.
It’s not perfect. Our noses bump and I almost laugh, but then his hand settles lightly at my waist—not grabbing, not holding, but grounding—and the world goes quiet for a few seconds. He’s warm and steady and…and dammit he makes me feel things I’m not sure I’ve ever felt.
I pull back quickly, my heart racing as I brush my lips with the tips of my fingers, as if I’ll be able to feel the tingling sensation warming through my body. And then suddenly my defensive armor snaps back into place.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “That didn’t mean anything.”
He studies me quietly and I fear he’s going to say something that’ll make me feel like a horrible person. Like I’m playing with his emotions or that I’m not what he expected or that I’m leading him on or that I know I want it so why don’t I just give it up for him.
My stomach churns.
But Shepherd smiles.
He. Smiles.
Soft and knowing as he says, “Okay.”
Okay?
What, no argument?
No pressure?
I don’t understand what’s happening but my chest suddenlyfeels like it might crack open. A quiet beat passes between us before he speaks again, his voice low and careful.
“Can I ask you one thing?”
I hesitate, then nod once.
His eyes hold mine, steady, warm, and impossibly tender. He brings a hand ever so gently to cup my face, his thumb slowly smoothing over my cheek. The touch way more intimate than I ever expected.
“Who hurt you, Sutton?” The question lands softly, but it still knocks the air from my lungs. He must see it, because he immediately adds, “Fuck, you don’t have to answer that. I’m not asking for details.”
I swallow, my eyes glistening with unshed tears. He shifts closer to me. Not crowding, but present.
“I just want you to know…” His voice dips, quieter now. “Whatever it was…whoever it was, it wasn’t me. And I’m not that guy.”
Something fragile inside me trembles and my chin betrays me and starts to quiver.
“I’ll never rush you. And I’ll never push past what you’re ready for,” he continues gently. “But I promise you I will always make sure you feel safe around me. That part’s not negotiable.”
My throat tightens because he didn’t say it like a promise he expects gratitude for. He stated it as a fact.
