I feel the weight of everything he’s told me in the way his mouth lingers, the way his hands don’t roam aimlessly but hold me like he’s afraid of losing his grip on something important.
“I don’t want to pretend I’m suddenly … healed.”
“I wouldn’t believe you if you did,” I admit.
That earns me the ghost of a smile.
“But I don’t want to live the way I’ve been living anymore,” he continues.
His hands slide to my back, warm and steady.
“And I don’t want to keep wanting you and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”
My pulse jumps.
“It matters to me,” I say softly.
His eyes darken, not with lust alone, but with something heavier.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because it does to me too.”
That admission lands between us like a quiet vow, not a promise, not a declaration of forever. Just truth.
He tucks his thumbs into my sweatpants and pushes them down slowly, his eyes holding mine the whole time. It feels like the most intimate thing we’ve ever done.
They hit the ground, and I kick them off. I strip him of his clothes, taking my time.
It’s hard to breathe when I see this man naked in front of me. He’s perfectly sculpted, like he spends all his time in a gym and not saving lives.
He reaches over to the wall and puts the shower on, though we don’t move under the water.
Instead, the steam builds around us as he starts to trail soft kisses along my neck, then down to my chest. My breathing becomes labored as he falls to his knees and kisses my stomach and hips, worshipping every inch of my skin.
He puts one large hand on my thigh and moves it over a couple of inches, making my stance wider. Then he dips his thumb down to my pussy and spreads the evidence of my arousal up to my clit.
Then he stands up and kisses me. When he pulls apart, his eyes are unmistakably darker. “I’m clean.”
That’s all he needs to say. I know what he wants.
“Me too,” I admit. “And I’m on the pill.”
With that, he lifts me into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he presses my back against the tiles. Then he lines his dick up and pushes inside.
It’s not hard, but he pushes all the way in, then groans a deep, guttural sound as his forehead falls to my shoulder.
“I’ve never done this before,” he admits, voice sounding pained. “This feels amazing.”
I’m lost in the sensations as he moves slowly inside of me. I know we are not past the hard stuff, but for the first time, I feel like he has consciously chosen to face it all … with me by his side.
Chapter Forty
Colton
It’s been two weeks since I told her everything I’d spent most of my adult life keeping buried. Two weeks since I stopped pretending that control was the same thing as peace.
I don’t feel healed, but I do feel like a burden has been lifted.
Which might actually be worse in some ways because now I notice things. Like how quiet my apartment feels when she isn’t here or how much easier it is to breathe when she is.