“Are you hungry?" she asks.
"Not yet," I say.
She holds my gaze for a moment, before saying, “I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a while."
“Go ahead.”
She hesitates and I press. What could it be? She takes a deep breath and leans over and whispers it in my ear.
I look at her for a moment. She holds my gaze without flinching. She’s not pretending to be brave keeping her chin level.
"Yes," I say.
Something relaxes in her face. It’s not relief exactly.
I take her hand and we go upstairs.
I turnon the lamp on my side because this isn't a dark room scene. I want to see her. She sits on the edge of the bed and I stand in front of her and take her face in my hands and look at her for a moment.
"We go slow," I say. "And if anything doesn't work, we stop and try something else."
"Okay," she says.
"Tell me if you want to stop."
"I will."
I believe her. That's the thing about Jade. She says what she means and she means what she says and I trust that. I've trusted it since the belt two weeks ago, since the kitchen table fight, since the beach and the three in the morning, and every conversation we've had.
I kiss her slowly. She relaxes into it. I take my time with everything. I move my hands over her slowly, learning everything about her. Her shoulders, her back, the curve of her waist. She makes a small sound when I find the spot below her ear and I stay there until her hands grip my shirt.
We get rid of the clothes without rushing any of it. I lay her back on the bed and work my way down her throat, her collarbone, her ribs, paying attention to every place I've been and a few I haven't mapped yet. She's warm under my hands and her fingers are in my hair and she makes small sounds that tell me where to stay and where to go and I listen to all of them.
"Still okay?" I ask against her skin.
"Very okay," she says.
I work my way back up. I kiss her mouth and her jaw and the inside of her wrist and I feel her pulse fast under my lips. Then I tell her to turn over.
I take my time with this too.
My hands move over her back, her shoulders, the base of her spine. I press my lips there and feel her exhale. I keep my touch light and warm, adjusting as I go. She's relaxed under my hands but her pulse is fast, anticipation sets in at her shoulders.
"Still with me?" I ask.
“Yes.”
I use everything I know.
I start with my hands, slow and deliberate, reading her responses. Her breath catches when I find the right pressure and I stay there, working her until her hips move toward me and her hands grip the sheet. I move lower. My mouth replaces my hands and she makes a sound against the pillow and her thighs tighten around my shoulders and I don't stop, not when she pulls at my hair, not when she says my name the first time. I keep going until she comes apart under my mouth, her whole body pulling tight, that long exhale, her hands fisting the pillow above her head.
I give her a moment. My hand moves slowly up her spine.
Then I reach for the nightstand.
I take my time with this too. My hands on her hips, adjusting, reading every sound and shift. She turns her face to the side and I can see her expression—eyes closed, lips parted, completely present, completely here. That's the thing that undoes me. She asked for this. She's here for all of it, not bracing or retreating, just here, trusting me with every inch of it.
I press my lips to her shoulder blade. She exhales.
