It’s not just lust—it’s more.
The way he moved, the way he touched me, it wasn’t just about my body. It was deeper than that. He didn’t just take; he gave. Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered word—it felt like worship. Like I wasn’t just something he wanted but something he cherished.
Maybe even loved.
The thought terrifies me, but I can’t push it away. Not after this. Not when I still feel the imprint of him on every part of me.
His hand brushes against my cheek, calloused and tender, and it makes my breath hitch. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. The silence between us feels heavy—not with awkwardness, but with meaning. Like we’ve crossed a line we can’t uncross, stepped into a place we can’t return from.
I should say something. Something light, something casual to break the tension. But I don’t. I can’t. Because the truth is, I don’t want to throw this away.
We barely know each other. I know that. Logic screams at me to pull back, to protect myself, to build a wall before it’s too late. But after this?
After the way he’s made me feel—completely seen, completely wanted—I don’t know if I can.
I trail my fingers along his jaw, memorizing the sharp angles, the softness in his gaze. “Ledger . . .” My voice is quiet, trembling, because I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
He leans down, his forehead resting against mine, and his breath fans over my lips. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me.
And I think maybe he does. Maybe he feels it too—the pull, the inevitability, the way this thing between us feels like stepping off the edge of a cliff and trusting the fall. It’s not something either of us can walk away from, not now. It’s too much. Too consuming. Too everything.
And that terrifies me.
It scares me more than what happened last night. More than the uncertain future waiting outside these walls. Because what if he leaves? What if I hand him too much of myself, and he takes it all—takes me—and walks away?
But then I remember the way his touch made me feel. The way his arms around me felt like a fortress, unshakable and safe. I shouldn’t feel that way. I can’t feel that way. He’s still a stranger.
Sure, I know his favorite color is blue. I know he’s played hockey since he was four, skating on some frozen pond that shaped him into the man he is now. But that’s not enough. Knowing scraps of his life isn’t enough to explain why I don’t want to be apart from him, why my body aches at the thought of him pulling away.
No. I’m logical. Practical. I use my head, not my heart. So why is it that, right now, all I want to do is ask him to stay inside me? To move again, to fill me, to make me forget everything outside this moment.
To make me feel alive.
Because that’s what he does—he makes me feel like I’m not just existing, not just going through the motions. He makes me feel awake. Like every nerve, every breath, every beat of my heart has been waiting for him.
I know it’s dangerous. I know I should pull back, rebuild the walls I’ve spent so long perfecting. But with him looking at me like that, like I’m something he’s been searching for his entire life, I don’t know if I can.
And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.
“What are you thinking, darling?”
“Everything? Nothing?” I murmur, my voice trembling as my thoughts spill over, unable to settle on one truth.
“Too much?” he asks, his tone soft, like he’s trying to catch a fragile thread between us.
I nod, my breaths hitching. “It’s never been so . . . intense,” I confess, the words raw and jagged as they tumble out. He must think I’m naïve, inexperienced. He’s probably had a lifetime of lovers, countless nights like this. And me? I’m just too much. Too bare. Too . . . me. “So?—”
“Me too,” he interrupts, his voice cutting through the spiral of doubt. His lips brush mine in a kiss that’s almost reverent, a tender punctuation to his words. “Never before. Not like this.”
His admission washes over me, soothing yet unsettling, igniting something dangerous—something I’m not sure I know how to hold on to.
I want to believe him.
I want to believe this is as unique to him as it feels to me.
I want to trust that his words mean what I think they do.
I want to let go of the doubts clawing at the edges of my mind.
