He set down his own glass, then leaned in slowly, giving me time to meet him halfway.
Which I did, because this time, I knew what I was doing. Or at least, I knew what I wanted.
That made all the difference.
He was close enough for me to feel his warmth, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, aware of his quiet presence that had somehow gone from unfamiliar to necessary in a matter of hours.
Then his fingers found my face, my neck, and I shivered. He rubbed his thumb over my lips, moving lower to my chin, maddeningly not close enough for our lips to meet. Stefanlooked into my eyes, his hand on my nape, and then he leaned in closer, our noses rubbing, my breath catching.
At last our lips met, and I closed my eyes, losing myself in the kiss. This time there was no question in it, no careful testing of something unknown. It was slow and sensual. I slid my hand from his arm to his shoulder, the contact grounding, steady, the shape of him beneath my fingertips suddenly very real in a way that made my breath catch again.
Stefan murmured against my lips, moving his hand from my jaw to the back of my neck, firmer this time, guiding—not forcing but directing the angle, deepening the kiss in a way that made something shift low in my chest.
This is different.
He wasn’t taking anything from me—he was building on what I’d already given.
That was all it took for me to want more.
I tightened my fingers against his shoulder as the kiss deepened, my breath hitching as I responded, following where he led—because I wanted to, because it felt right to let him. Stefan’s other hand came to my side, drawing me closer, the space between us disappearing completely now.
This wasn’t careful anymore.
This was heat.
Stefan slid his hand under the hem of my tee, stroking my belly, moving higher, our kisses not faltering for a second. I moaned when his fingers brushed over my nipples, aching to feel more of that. I tugged the tee over my head and leaned back against the cushions, my breathing ragged.
Stefan stared at me for a moment, his eyes shining. “Oh my God,” he said quietly. “Look at you.”
Everything in me paused. That wasnotthe reaction I’d been bracing for.
I glanced down at myself, suddenly seeing what he was seeing—or trying to. The same body, the same hair. Nothing had changed, but the way he was looking at me made it feel as though it had.
“What?” I said, my heart quaking a little. I grabbed a cushion to hold it against my chest, but he stopped me.
“No,” he murmured. “Don’t—don’t hide.”
Oh fuck.
His gaze raked over me again, slower now, not hurried or greedy, but simply taking me in.
“You have no idea,” he whispered.
Then it hit me.
He means it.
This wasn’t politeness or performance. This was clear, uncomplicatedwant—directed atme.
Relief flooded through me before I could stop it. I didn’t feel out of place.
I feltseen.
My breath caught in my throat.
He moved closer, like someone approaching something he didn’t want to disturb. I could feel the weight of his gaze everywhere, its warmth, the way it lingered without apology.
“You have no idea,” he said again, barely above a whisper. He reached towards me, then hesitated as if he were giving me time to stop him.