Instead of answering, I lift my hand to his cheek, palm cradling his jaw. The slight stubble there pricks my skin, a pleasant friction that anchors me to this moment, to this man who stays when he says he will.
When our lips meet, the kiss carries no urgency. Jared lets me set the pace, his mouth gentle on mine, responding to each shift in pressure with careful attention as his hand slides up to cup my elbow.
The kiss deepens, shaped by familiarity with each other. He tilts his head the way that fits us best, adjusting without thought. And when I trace his bottom lip with my tongue, asking for more without words, the soft sound he makes sinks into the depths of me.
Mixie chirps her disapproval and leaps from the table, padding out of the room with her tail held high.
My fingers find their way to the buttons of his shirt, slipping each from its hole with practiced ease. Beneath the fabric, his skin radiates heat that calls to my palms. I trace the contours of his chest, and his heartbeat accelerates under my touch.
“Emily,” he breathes against my lips, his hands now framing my face with a reverent care that melts the last of my resistance.
His fingers thread through my hair, cradling the back of my head as he guides me to lie back on the cushions. The throw blanket tangles around our legs, and he pauses to free it, wrapping it around us both as he settles over me.
The familiar ridges and dips of his body pressed to mine bring comfort first, desire second. We move together, his hand sliding beneath my shirt, palm warm on my ribs, while I tug his shirt free from his waistband.
His lips follow a path from my mouth to my jaw before drifting lower to the pulse point at my throat. My breath catches as he lingers there, counting my heartbeats with his lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
I pull him back up to my mouth, needing the connection of his lips on mine. The kiss grows deeper, hungrier, as my body responds to him, my legs parting to cradle his hips, drawing him closer.
The room narrows to the places where we meet. His hand cups my breast, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. My fingers clutch his shoulders, drawing him in. The solid length of him rests along my thigh, heat gathering to mirror the slow burn between my legs.
We move together with unhurried softness, seeking comfort in connection instead of escape from disappointment. His breath grazes my ear as he whispers my name again, reverence in the sound, drawing a quiet answer from my throat.
Clothing shifts and falls away, piece by piece, revealing skin to firelight and seeking hands. When he settles between my thighs, my hands find his hips, drawing him into me with a sigh that carries relief and homecoming.
We move together with the familiar rhythm of waves flowing to shore, his forehead pressed to mine, eyes locked and breath mingling with each gasp and groan.
Pleasure gathers slow and sweet, a counterpoint to the ache lingering from earlier disappointment. Here, in this moment, with Jared’s heartbeat thundering beneath my palm where it rests on his chest, the ache fades to background noise.
Here, there are no unanswered texts. No empty place settings. No unexplained absences.
Only presence, only connection, only the certainty of someone who never breaks his word.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the couch, the throw blanket pulled to our shoulders to guard against the cooling air. Only glowing coals remain in the fireplace, casting the room in dim amber light that softens the edges of the furniture.
Jared’s fingers trace lazy patterns along my bare shoulder, his touch light but steadying. The quiet between us settles more gently now, cleansed of earlier tension by the intimacy we shared. His other arm curves around me, holding me to his side, my head tucked into the hollow beneath his collarbone.
“What are you thinking?” he asks in a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine.
I consider deflecting. But the darkness and the dying firelight carve out a space where the truth feels safer to share.
“I’m thinking about Leif,” I admit.
Jared’s hand continues its slow path along my shoulder, unbroken, unhurried. “I figured.”
I trace a circle on his chest, watching the path my finger takes across his skin. “What if we’re making a mistake?”
“With Leif?”
“With letting him in.” The words catch, but I force them out. “With hoping he’ll choose us.”
Jared’s breathing remains steady beneath my cheek. He doesn’t rush to reassure me or dismiss my concern, giving the question the consideration it deserves.
“Do you think we are?” he asks.
I close my eyes, gathering courage for what I haven’t admitted aloud until now. “I believe what’s growing with Leif is real, and that’s what scares me.”