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“It’s absolutely not.” Teague releases his hold on me and places a hand on either side of my face, tipping my head so he can see me. His thumbs swipe at my cheeks, but there’s no hiding my red blotchy face and swollen eyes. “You’re perfect.”

“You keep saying that, but…” My words trail off as he shakes his head, denying that there is a but.

“Perfect.”

He waits for my protest, but I’m struck silent at the sincerity in his eyes.

He waits for me to pull away, to hide, but I’m held captive in the way he’s supporting me.

He waits for me to fall apart, but this time, I don’t want to.

I want to be better, stronger. I want to take back control, whatever that looks like. I want to make my own choices and write a different ending to my story.

To do that, I lunge wildly to the side, making a mad grab for his dress shirt, and use it to wipe my face clean of snot and tears. No matter what this man claims, snot is definitely not perfect.

He laughs. Not as big as when I tickled him, but still a good laugh. “Feel better?”

“I really do.” I match the grin on his face with my own.

“Can I kiss you?”

I shake my head. “No. I think I’d like to kiss you, if that’s okay.”

“Anything you want,” he whispers, leaning close. He stops just shy of pressing his lips to mine, giving me agency over what happens next.

We share the same air for the beat of my heart, and then I close the distance between us and kiss him. I kiss him. I sweep my tongue out, and he opens eagerly. I tilt his head, the way he did to me, angling for better access.

Teague gives over control, but I feel clumsy instead of empowered, and frustration creeps in.

“If… What if I don’t actually want to be the one driving this? What if I want you to… to take? To be in charge of everything?”

“Anything you want, remember?” He slides his hands until he’s palming my neck instead of my cheeks. “But you’re still in control. I won’t take anything from you. I’ll only give.”

And just like that, the desire I felt earlier coils in my belly. “I don’t know how that works. I only know⁠—”

“Mm, we’re going to change what you know. Expand your knowledge and give you new experiences that will replace those shitty ones, yeah?”

“Okay?”

“Anything you don’t like, that you’re not comfortable with, you tell me. Is stop a word that gives you trouble?”

I shake my head, and he continues, “Good. Then say stop, and I will. If, in the moment, even that word fails you, use your other faculties. Push me, tap me, kick if that’s what you need, but I promise you, I won’t let it get to that, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, surer this time.

With that, Teague lays me on the bed, gently. Carefully. He kisses me until I’m breathless, trailing kisses and nibbles and little licks down my neck.

His eyes meet mine, waiting for consent before he slides down my body and cups my breasts, plumping them, teasing my nipples. He flicks them with his thumb until they’re tight buds, standing erect, and begging for attention.

He licks and sucks first one and then the other, and my belly swirls with desire. Every move he makes, each flick of his tongue is with permission and patience.

His patience, because I’m becoming increasingly impatient. I want more. Need more, but I don’t know how to convey that.

“Anything you want,” he mumbles around the nipple in his mouth before biting down gently.

My hips roll at the sensation searching for the feeling, that friction, I had before falling apart. Rocking against his belly and then his hard cock was… That’s what I want. I want that coil, the curling and tightening deep inside me. I want the release that was just beyond my reach.

The temptation is strong to back away, to pretend that this is all I want, that it’s good enough. But it’s not. And Teague knows that.