She reaches for the hem of her shirt.
I catch her wrist.
Her eyes jump to mine.
“Let me?”
She breathes out. “Yes.”
I take the shirt off her slowly.
Not because I’m patient.
Because I need her to know nothing here is snatched.
The shirt drops to the floor.
She is bare beneath it.
For one second, I can’t speak.
She starts to cross her arms.
I stop her with a hand at each wrist, gentle but firm enough to make her look at me.
“Don’t hide from me.”
Her eyes shine. “I don’t know how not to.”
“Then practice.”
She laughs, but it breaks in the middle.
I lower my mouth to her collarbone. Not her breasts. Not yet. I kiss the place where fear keeps trying to live, then the hollow of her throat, then the curve of her shoulder. Her breath catches. Her hands settle on my arms.
“Still yes?”
“Yes.”
I touch her then.
Slow at first.
Her eyes close, and the sound she makes is so soft I almost miss it. I don’t want to miss anything. Not tonight. I want every sound she has ever swallowed because a man made pleasure feel unsafe. I want all of it given back to her.
“Let me hear you,” I murmur.
Her fingers tighten. “I’m trying.”
“You ain’t getting graded.”
Another broken laugh.
Then I take her nipple into my mouth, and the laugh turns into a moan that makes my whole body go brutal with need.
I keep myself leashed.
Barely.