He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.“I’ve waited seven years for you,” he explains, his eyes soft with something that makes my heart stutter.“And when it finally happens, I don’t want it rushed on a couch after burgers.You deserve better.”
His words kindle a deeper fire in my chest.Respect, consideration, the promise of something lasting beyond just physical release.This isn’t just about sex for him.It’s about us.
“Okay,” I agree softly, tracing the line of his jaw.“But you don’t have to stop touching me.”
A slow smile transforms his face, softening the hard edges and making him look younger, almost boyish.“Didn’t plan to,” he says, his hand resuming its exploration beneath my shirt.“Just setting boundaries.”
His hands continue their gentle exploration, trailing heat across my skin with each touch.The world outside ceases to exist.There is only this moment, this man, and the delicious weight of his body pressing me into the couch.
“Tell me what you like.”His breath is warm against my ear.
My mind goes blank.No one has ever asked me that before.My previous encounters had been hurried, clinical almost, the result of too many hours at the hospital and too little time for actual relationships.
“I’m not sure I know,” I admit, feeling heat rise to my cheeks that has nothing to do with arousal.
He pulls back slightly, studying my expression with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.There is no judgment in his dark eyes, only curiosity and something warmer.
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he says, his voice a low rumble I feel vibrate through my chest.“No rush.”
The promise in those words, of time, of patience, of discovery, makes something loosen in my chest.I reach up, threading my fingers through his dark hair and drawing him down for another kiss.This one is slower, deeper, an exploration rather than a claiming.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing harder, I find myself smiling.“I think I’d like that,” I whisper.
His grin is devastating, all white teeth and crinkled eyes transforming his usually serious face into something younger, lighter.“Noted,” he says.
We stay like that, trading kisses and touches that grow increasingly bold but never crossing the line he’s drawn.I lose track of time, my world narrowing to the points where our bodies connect, to the taste of his mouth, to the small sounds of pleasure that escape us both.
Eventually he shifts, rolling us so I lie half on top of him, my head resting on his chest.His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my back.
“You’re thinking too loud.”His voice is a pleasant rumble against my cheek.
“Just wondering how we got here,” I admit.“After all this time.”
His hand pauses briefly before resuming its path up and down my spine.“I got tired of watching from a distance.Seeing you in that parking lot, standing up for yourself… something snapped.”
I prop my chin on his chest, looking up at him.“I’m glad it did.”
A shadow passes over his features and is gone so quickly I almost miss it.“My life is complicated, X.The club, the things I do…”
“I know,” I interrupt, not wanting to lose the warmth of this moment to fears and warnings.“And we’ll talk about all of that.But right now…” I press a kiss to his sternum, feeling the sharp intake of breath beneath my lips.“Right now, can we just have this?”
The tension in his body eases.His hand comes up to cup the back of my head, fingers gentle against my scalp.“Yeah,” he agrees softly.“We can have this.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds our breathing and the distant hum of the traffic outside.I feel myself beginning to drift, the exhaustion of my shift and the warmth of his body lulling me toward sleep.
“I should go,” he ventures eventually, though he makes no move to disentangle himself.
“Or you could stay,” I suggest, words tumbling out before I can second-guess them.I push myself up to look at him properly.“Just to sleep,” I clarify.“I’m too comfortable to move, and you must be tired too.”
Something flickers in his eyes, surprise followed by a warmth that make my chest tighten.“You sure?”
I nod.“My bed’s more comfortable than this couch, though.And big enough for two.”
He studies me for a long moment, as if searching for any hesitation.Finding none, he nods.“All right.”
We untangle ourselves reluctantly.I lead the way to my bedroom, suddenly conscious of the unmade bed, the scrubs tossed over a chair, the stack of medical journals on the nightstand.
“Sorry for the mess,” I say, hastily straightening the duvet.
