“Like what?”
“Like you’re mad at yourself.”
“I don’t like hurting you.”
“You’re not.” Her lips tremble, but she holds my gaze. “I want this. I want you. Keep going.”
That does it.
The trust.
The order.
I push deeper, slow enough to feel every inch of her open for me. She’s tight around me, burning hot, her body taking me little by little while I kiss her through it.
By the time I’m seated all the way inside her, I’m ruined.
Done.
Branded as much as she is.
I stay still, buried deep, one hand cupping the side of her face.
Her eyes are wet.
Not broken.
Not scared.
Overwhelmed.
There’s a difference.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
“I am.”
“No. See me.”
She blinks.
Her fingers soften against my face.
“I see you, Jayce.”
My chest goes tight.
Fuck romance. Fuck softness. Fuck every weak thing I told myself I didn’t need.
Those four words hit like a blade under the ribs.
I move my hips, barely.
Her breath stutters.
I do it again.
Her nails drag down my back.
