“Ethan,” she whispers, her eyes glimmering with tears.
“I love you, Jenna.”
Her kiss-swollen lips tremble. “And I love you. With all my heart.”
I grin as lightness spreads through me. “Keep your glasses on.”
She blinks. “What?”
“I want you to see everything. I want you to watch me and know exactly what’s happening and who’s doing it. No fog. No guessing. Just you and me and nothing hidden.”
She swallows hard. “You too. Keep yours on.”
I kiss her again. Not gently. There’s nothing gentle left in me. I’ve been patient for months, celibate for years, and in love with this woman since a Tuesday night phone call about spreadsheets. My patience has run dry.
My tongue finds hers, and the sound she makes goes straight to the base of my spine, a soft, desperate whimper she tries to swallow and can’t.
I swallow it for her.
My hands learn her body methodically and thoroughly, like a man dedicated to studying this exact subject for the rest of his life. The curve of her waist. The dip of her navel. The soft swellof her breast under my palm, and the gasp she gives when my thumb finds her nipple through the cotton of her bra.
“Off?” I ask, fingers at the clasp.
“Off. Yes. Everything off. Stop asking and just?—”
I unhook it with one hand. She makes a sound that’s part laugh, part moan. “Of course you can do that one-handed.”
“I fix fences one-handed. This is easier.”
“Do not compare my bra to a fence.”
“Your bra is significantly more important than any fence.”
Her laugh dissolves into a groan as I dip my head and take her nipple into my mouth. Her back arches off the mattress, and her hands are in my hair again, gripping hard, pulling me closer. The taste of her skin is clean and warm, and underneath, the faint aroma of the soap I put in her bathroom. I've been longing for this moment since the night I swapped that bar and stood in the hallway with my forehead against the wall.
I take my time with her. I learn her sounds. The sharp hitch when I kiss the underside of her breast. The low, shuddering exhale when my mouth moves down her ribs. The full-body tremor when I press my lips to the patch of eczema below her navel, the most hidden one, the one nobody has ever seen.
“You're shaking,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m touching you, and it's the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her hand finds my face and cups my jaw, tilting me up to look at her. Behind her glasses, her eyes are dark and unguarded. There are no exits, no calculations—just Jenna.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says.
I bury my face in her stomach and breathe. Her fingers stroke through my hair, and for ten precious seconds, I’m no longer the caretaker, protector, or the man who holds everything together. I'm simply a man being touched by the woman he loves, and it’s enough to crack me open.
I hook my fingers into her underwear. “Still okay?”
“Ethan, if you don’t take those off in the next three seconds, I’m going to do it myself, and I won’t be as graceful about it.”
I pull them down her legs. She’s bare. Completely bare. Pale skin and dark hair and the vulnerable softness of a woman who’s never been looked at like this. I kneel between her thighs and just... look.
Her hands grip the sheets. “You’re staring.”
