I stopped moving.
Completely.
My whole body went rigid, breath trapped in my chest, my hand slackening around him as every old fear surged up my spine in a violent rush.
I rolled off of him fast, skin slapping against wet rock as panic surged inside me.
“Em?” His voice was strained—breathless, confused—he pushed up on an elbow, searching my face. “What—what’s wrong?”
My throat closed. “We don’t have protection,” I finally managed. “I can’t?—”
The rest caught in my chest. Heat crawled up my neck, mortification burning through me.
How could I lose control like that?
How could I be so reckless?
Before I could retreat completely—before I could shut down farther—Dean cupped my cheek.
The touch was gentle. Steady. Like something that would save me if my heart suddenly forgot how to beat.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and grounding. “Look at me.”
I did—slowly, my gaze focused on his deep brown eyes even though my breath was locked in my chest.
“Breathe,” he whispered. And for a second that was all we did.
In and out, slow and even, as I looked into the kindest face I’d ever seen in my life.
He brushed his thumb over the side of my jaw, then moved to trace slowly over my cheekbone. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Em… it’s okay.”
Relief stung my eyes. Not because he excused my reaction—but because he understood without asking for an explanation. Because instead of looking frustrated or confused the way men in my past had, he only looked… concerned. Steady. Like he wanted to make sure I was okay above anything else.
Something about that—about being met with care instead of irritation—slid under my skin and settled deep in my bones. Heat unfurled again—different this time, and I leaned up to kiss him—slow, reverent—letting him see that his kindness loosened something in me I’d spent years holding onto.
I shouldn’t have trusted him—not this fast, not this easily—but I did.
He shifted over me, bracing himself above me on his forearm, and he pushed hair away from my face. “You’re safe with me,” he whispered, his voice rough and sincere. “I’ll never do anything with you that you don’t want to do.”
His words slid under my skin, softening something that had been locked tight. Heat uncoiled deep inside me again.
I slid my hands up his chest—slow, deliberate—feeling the way his breath hitched beneath my palms.
For a moment, I just looked at him—really looked at him.
Searching his face, so honest and open, so breathtakingly handsome, I almost wanted to cry.
My fingertips lifted to his lips, brushing over them, before tracing the strong line of his jaw. I wanted to tell him why I panicked. Why the fear of getting pregnant made me crazy, why it could leave me paralyzed without warning?—
—but instead, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, letting action speak where words failed. Letting him feel the truth instead of hearing it.
Then my hands drifted lower, along the column of his throat—testing the fragile space between want and fear.
His skin was warm under my palms, his pulse beating steady and strong against my fingertips. Each time I touched him, his breath hitched—soft, startled—as if he hadn’t expected the gentleness of it.
The more I explored him, the more something inside me loosened?—
unfurling
