Then he kneels.
What—
"Axel, what are you—"
"Taking off your shoes." He's already unbuckling the straps on my heels, sliding them off one at a time. His hands linger on my ankles, my calves. "Then I'm going to undress you. Slowly. Is that okay?"
My mouth's gone dry. "Yes."
He slides his hands up my legs, finds the hem of my dress. "Lift your arms."
I do. He pulls the dress over my head, and then I'm sitting there in nothing but black lace underwear and a matching bra.
His eyes go dark.
"Fucking sexy," he breathes.
I should feel self-conscious. Should cover myself, make some joke to break the tension. But the way he's looking at me—like I'm art, like I'm sacred—makes me feel powerful instead.
"Your turn," I say.
He stands, starts unbuttoning his shirt. I watch his fingers work, watch the fabric part to reveal skin and muscle and scars I want to ask about but don't.
The shirt hits the floor. Then his hands go to his belt.
"Wait," I say.
He freezes. "You okay?"
"I want to do it."
His jaw clenches. "Aurora—"
"Please." I slide off the bed, stand in front of him. "I want to touch you."
For a second, I think he'll say no. Think he'll take control, do it himself, keep that careful distance he's been maintaining.
Then he nods.
My hands shake as I reach for his belt. Unbuckle it. Unzip his pants. He's watching me the whole time, and I can feel the tension radiating off him, feel how much control it takes him just to stand there and let me explore.
I slide his pants down.
Hot damn.
He's big. Bigger than I expected. His boxers can barely contain him, and there's already a wet spot where—
"You're staring," he says, voice strained.
"You're huge."
"Is that a problem?"
"I don't know yet." I look up at him. "Will it fit?"
Fuck I sound like a little girl.
Something in his expression cracks. He cups my face, kisses me soft. "We'll make it fit. And if it hurts, we stop. Understand?"
