“No.” The word came out fast, unfiltered, but doubt followed hard on its heels.What if I’m seeing what I want to see? What if?—
“There aren’t any red flags,” he said quietly, as if he’d felt the turn in her thoughts. “But I get why you’re asking.” His hand came up, cradling her face with careful pressure. “Because I can’t promise this is real either.”
Her breath hitched under his touch.
“I can’t promise it works when things are quiet. When there’s no urgency, no threat, no reason to hold on except choice.” He looked straight at her, with no evasion. “But I want to find out. With you.”
35
Jen searched his face,needing truth more than comfort, even if it hurt. “Even knowing it might not be real?”
His fingers teased her skin, light enough that she could have pulled away. “Even knowing it might not be.”
She could tell herself this was adrenaline. Proximity. A body still humming from danger. Two days. A crisis. Nothing solid enough to stand on.
But she wasn’t choosing safety.
She was choosing the risk of wanting. Choosing to step forward instead of bracing for the fall. To hope again, knowing exactly what hope had cost her before. “I want to find out too.”
Something shifted in his expression—relief, maybe. Or recognition. Whatever it was, it landed hard enough to make her heart drum.
The air between them grew charged—still heavy with everything unsaid, but alive now, vibrating beneath her skin. She soaked in the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. The warmth of him. His hands gentle at her waist.
She pushed herself up slowly and swung her leg over him, settling astride his hips. The sheet slid away, cool air skimming her skin, but his hands were warm and firm at her sides.
“You sure?” He asked in a roughened whisper.
“I just told you I’m terrified.” She looked down at him, letting him see everything—the fear, the want, the choice. “And I’m choosing this anyway.”
His fingers firmed at her waist.
She leaned down and kissed him.
A slow, open kiss she sank into, loving the shape of his mouth, the warmth of his breath, the way his lips parted for her like he’d been waiting.
A low sound slipped from his throat.
His hands slid up her sides, careful around her ribs, then higher—cupping the weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing slowly, reverently, as if committing the feel of her to memory. His touch sent heat spiraling low in her belly.
She broke the kiss just enough to breathe.
His eyes were dark now, pupils blown, fixed on her face. Watching. Waiting.
She reached for the nightstand and found another condom without looking away from him. Her hands were steady this time as she rolled it on. The sound he made when she touched him almost undid her.
The angle was different like this—deeper, fuller. She sank down slowly, savoring the stretch, the heat of him.
His hands tightened on her hips, strong enough to ground her, still stroking her breasts as if he couldn’t stop touching her.
But he didn’t thrust or take control.
He let her move.
Jen rolled her hips, slowly at first, finding the rhythm that sent sparks racing up her spine. Pleasure bloomed, deep, building.
His hands followed her movement, guiding her rhythm. “That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that.”
The praise went straight through her. She moved faster, chasing the feeling building inside her.
