“I’m not usually.” His breath was warm against my temple. “But with you, I want to be. I want to give you everything.”
My throat tightened. “You already are.”
We danced through two more songs, neither of us speaking, just swaying together in the dim kitchen light. And with each moment, I felt the walls I’d been building around my heart crumble a little more.
When the third song ended, he pulled back just enough to look at me. The heat in his eyes made my breath catch.
“Leigh...”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“You don’t have to.” I reached up, cupped his face. “Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is yes.”
He kissed me then, and it was different from every other kiss we’d shared. Not desperate or rushed or fueled by urgency. This was slow, deliberate, loaded with everything we couldn’t say. Everything we were afraid to admit.
When he pulled back, we were both breathless.
“Bedroom?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yes.”
He took my hand, led me through the small apartment to the bedroom. It was as sparse as the rest. Just a bed, a dresser, a lamp. But when he turned to face me, none of that mattered.
“I need you to know something,” he said, his hands coming up to frame my face. “This isn’t just sex for me. Not anymore. Maybe it never was.”
“Dex…”
He kissed me again, harder this time, and I kissed him back with everything I had. All the feelings I’d been trying to contain, all the love I’d been afraid to acknowledge, poured into that kiss.
We undressed each other slowly, reverently. Every button undone deliberately, every piece of clothing removed with care. Not the frantic urgency of our first times, but something deeper. Something that felt like worship.
When we were finally bare to each other, he pulled me onto the bed, his body covering mine. The weight of him, the warmth, the realness… it was everything.
“Leigh,” he breathed against my neck. “My beautiful, Leigh.”
His hands mapped my body like he was memorizing every curve, every dip, every place that made me gasp. He took his time, kissing a path down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. His mouth on my breast made me arch into him, my fingers threading through his hair.
“Dex, please…”
“I’ve got you.” His voice was rough with want. “Let me take care of you.”
And he did. His hands, his mouth, his body, all of it focused entirely on me. Learning what I liked, what made me cry out, what made my fingers dig into his shoulders. He was patient, thorough, devastating in his attention.
By the time he finally settled between my thighs, I was trembling.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
I did. Our eyes locked as he pushed inside, slow and careful, giving me time to adjust. The stretch, the fullness, the intimacy of it, I’d never felt anything like it.
“Okay?” he asked, his jaw tight with the effort of holding still.
“Perfect.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “So perfect.”
He started to move, and it was nothing like before. Not rushed or desperate, but slow and deliberate. Each thrust deep and measured, each movement calculated to drive me higher. His forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt ancient and new all at once.
“I can’t believe I got so lucky to find someone like you,” he murmured against my lips.
