The quiet trust in that simple response strips me bare.
In the past, these were the kinds of moments where everything unraveled. When intensity became something to apologize for. When caring too deeply pushed people away instead of drawing them closer.
This doesn’t feel anything like that.
There’s no need to rein myself in or hide parts of myself. I don’t have to fear being too much. With her, it doesn’t feel like a risk. It feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
“I want to make you mine. But only if you’re ready. You’re the one who sets the pace.”
When she reaches up, her palm sliding gently over my cheek, I can’t help but lean into her touch.
“I want that too.”
As soon as I sweep her up against my chest, her arms loop around my neck and I carry her toward our room, slowing only when we reach the bed. Her breathing stutters as she looks up at me, lashes lowering, then lifting again. I never want her to feel swept along by momentum instead of intention. What we’re doing isn’t something to be endured or survived. It’s something to be celebrated.
“Are you absolutely sure?” I ask, setting her on her feet. What we’re building matters, and I want every step forward to be one she takes with me, not for me. “We can go as slow as you need.”
I use two fingers to lift her chin when she doesn’t respond. It’s just enough pressure to guide her gaze to mine. “Look at me.”
When she finally does, I find trust, not hesitation, in her eyes.
This, right here, is what matters.
Not control or urgency.
Just the choice she’s making to meet me with her eyes wide open.
Whatever fears I’ve carried about repeating the past, about being too much and losing her the way I lost another woman, relinquish their grip, one careful inch at a time. I don’t feel like I’m standing on the edge of a familiar mistake or that this is history circling back around. Instead, it feels like being given an unexpected chance to rewrite it.
It’s a surprise when she rises onto her tiptoes to brush her mouth across mine. The touch is light, but it still manages to pull a low groan from my chest.
When she returns for a second pass, lingering longer this time, I open to her tentative exploration. The moment she deepens the kiss, my arms slide around her, pulling her close until her softness fits against all my hard edges. My cock stiffens, pressing insistently against her lower abdomen.
She pulls back just enough to say, “I want you to make love to me, Laiken.”
I kiss her forehead, reveling in the sweet scent of her skin. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” I reply. “I’m going to give you so much pleasure. The kind that leaves no room for doubt. The kind you’ll never have to look elsewhere for.”
“Then I think you should start with taking off this dress,” she murmurs.
Before I can respond, she turns, presenting me with the long line of her spine. She gathers her hair up and holds it there. My hands shake as I reach for her, taking my time to carefully draw the zipper down until it reaches her waist. When she lowers her arms, I slide the fabric from one shoulder, then the other, watching as the pale-pink gown slips down her body before pooling at her feet.
She stands in front of me in nothing but delicate white lace.
My mouth goes dry.
This woman is so damn beautiful.
And she’s mine.
I remain still, content to watch the way her golden hair spills down her back as the lacy fabric hugs the curve of her ass. When I don’t immediately reach out and touch her, she glances over her shoulder, concern flickering across her features.
“Is something wrong?”
I shake my head. “No, everything is exactly right. Maybe for the first time in my life… everything feels right.”
Her lips curve upward in satisfaction as my hands rise, finding the clasp at her back. I take my time with it, stroking her skin, allowing the anticipation to build.
There’s a soft snap as the hooks release. The straps slide from her shoulders, gliding down her arms before the lace falls away and drifts to the floor. I lean in and press my lips to her skin.
