“Hmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you.”
“I noticed.”
Her hand moved lower, and his entire body went rigid.
“Little one.”
She pushed herself up onto one elbow. “Look at me.”
He opened his eyes. Her eyes were clear. There was nervousness there, but it wasn’t fear. It looked remarkably like the nervousness clawing through him.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she said.
His heart slammed once against his ribs.
“Polly—”
“No.” She put one finger against his mouth. “Don’t start.”
He frowned. “Start what?”
“Giving me reasons to stop before I’ve even started.”
His mouth closed.
“I know I can stop,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’ve spent a year teaching me that. I know you’ll stop if I ask. I know you’ll never take anything I don’t give you.” Her hand returned to his chest. “You don’t have to keep proving it.”
He stared at her. For so long, he’d believed that loving her meant making certain every door remained open. He’d built escape routes into every touch, every conversation, every moment of desire. Now she was asking him to trust her to find the door herself if she wanted it.
“Then tell me what you want,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away.
“You.”
The single word went through him with astonishing force.
She swallowed. “I want you.”
His restraint nearly broke. She wasn’t here because she needed comfort. Or because she’d had a nightmare. Or because the world frightened her and his bed was the one place she felt safe. She was here because she wanted him.
He lifted one hand and cupped her face.
“Are you certain?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he almost smiled.
“That was the last time,” he promised.
“It had better be.”
Then she kissed him, and this time, he stopped holding still. He rolled carefully, bringing her beneath him and supporting most of his weight on one arm as his mouth found hers.
She made a small startled sound. He froze instinctively, and her hands immediately tightened in his fur.
