Something in me stilled. His hands slid from my waist up along my sides, unhurried, stopping just beneath my chest like he was hitting a familiar boundary.
“I had to keep it right here,” he said quietly, his thumbs resting there, not moving yet. “Every time.”
My breath caught under his hands.
“You don’t have to now,” I said, softer than I meant to.
His eyes lifted to mine.
“I know,” he said, and then he moved. His hands came up fully, palms settling over my breasts through the thin satin, slower now, like he was taking his time because he finally could. I felt it immediately, the weight of it, the intention in it, my body answering before I had a chance to manage it.
His thumbs brushed over my nipples through the fabric, once, then again, more deliberate, and I leaned into him without thinking, my breath breaking on the second pass.
“That’s it,” he said, watching me closely now, his voice lower, steadier. “Stay with me.”
“I am,” I said, but it came out thinner than I meant it to.
His mouth curved slightly, not amused, just… knowing.
“You think too much,” he murmured, his fingers shifting, pressing just enough to pull another reaction out of me. “Don’t do that right now.”
My hands tightened on his shoulders.
“Then tell me what to do,” I said, because I was already past pretending I had control of it.
His gaze sharpened slightly at that.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
“Stay right here,” he continued, his thumbs moving again, slower now, more focused, his voice dropping just enough that I felt it as much as I heard it. “Don’t leave the moment. Let it happen.”
The knot at my waist loosened under his hands before I registered he had touched it, the robe falling open as his palms moved with it, no break in contact, warm now against bare skin.
The shift was immediate. Coming sharper. Closer. I inhaled, my head tipping back before I could stop it as his thumbs returned, this time without anything in the way, the sensation pulling low and insistent through me.
“There you go,” he said, softer now, like he was confirming something he’d been waiting to see. “I wondered about that.”
“Deion—” I exhaled, not even sure what I was asking for.
His mouth followed the line of my throat, then lower, lingering where my breath changed the most, his hand sliding around my back to keep me there, steady when my knees felt less reliable than they had a second ago.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured against my skin. “Stay with me.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure he could see it.
My hands moved over him, pushing his shirt away from his shoulders, needing it gone, needing to feel him the way he was touching me. I dragged my palms over his chest once it was off, down his back, and when my nailspressed lightly into his side, he exhaled low, controlled, like it cost him something to keep it that way.
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“Neither is this,” I managed, breath uneven.
His mouth curved against my skin. “You don’t want fair.”
No. I didn’t. We made it to the bed without deciding to move. He followed me down, slower than I wanted and exactly as slow as I needed, his weight settling over me, his hand finding mine and holding it there like he wanted me present in it with him, not drifting off somewhere else.
“Stay with me,” he said again, softer this time, his forehead brushing mine.
