I rest my forehead lightly against her stomach for one dangerous second while I try to gather what’s left of my self-control. Her fingers drift into my hair again automatically, petting through it slowly, and something about that nearly takes me out emotionally.
Nobody’s ever touched me like they wanted to soothe me before.
My cock aches so badly it’s almost unbearable at this point. I’m hard enough to hurt, trapped behind my jeans, while the woman I spent the last ten minutes worshipping gently strokes my hair.
Which is fucking ironic, considering I’m built like a defensive wall and regularly let people fire vulcanized rubber at my face for a living.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
The concern in her voice strikes me harder than the orgasm I haven’t even had.
I laugh quietly against her stomach. “I’m trying really hard not to scare you right now.”
Her fingers still, then she tips my face up until I’m forced to look at her. There’s no fear there, only satisfaction. That realization lands so hard that the air thins around me.
“Owen,” she says carefully, “you know you’re not actually dangerous, right?”
Everything inside me goes completely still because nobody’s ever said it to me before.
Not like that.
People tell me to calm down. To manage myself. To think before I react. But nobody’s ever separated me from the worstmoments I’ve had. Nobody’s ever looked at me like they believed I was more than the clip. More than the temper. More than the mistakes.
Remy does.
And Jesus Christ, I don’t think she understands what that does to me.
I stand slowly, my knees protesting after kneeling on the hardwood that long. The second I’m upright again, she’s still close enough to touch, flushed and gorgeous and looking at me with this soft openness that makes me feel weirdly exposed.
“You should not be looking at me like that right now,” I say hoarsely.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m…” I shake my head once. “Something good.”
Her expression shifts immediately, turning almost unbearably tender.
“You are something good.”
That one nearly buckles me at the knees harder than having her thighs around my head did.
I kiss her before I can think too hard about it. Slow this time. Careful. She melts against me immediately, soft and shaky from her orgasm, and the feeling of her trusting me with her weight nearly undoes me again.
My hands settle at her waist while her arms slide around my neck.
Neither of us says anything for a while.
The kitchen is quiet except for our breathing and the faint sound of traffic outside my condo windows, but everything feels different now. Like the entire shape of the room changed while I wasn’t paying attention.
I rest my forehead against hers again.
“I don’t really know how to do this,” I admit quietly.
“This” clearly means more than the sex.
Remy studies me for a second before her mouth softens into the smallest smile.
“Good,” she whispers. “Neither do I.”
