She guided my fingers to the button, showed me the angle, pressed down until it came free. Then the zipper, the rasp of metal on metal, and then I was pushing my hand inside her jeans, inside her underwear, my palm sliding against the soft skin of her stomach.
"Is this okay?" I asked.
"Yes."
"I've never—I mean, I've touched people before, but not—not like this—"
"Gabriel." She put her hand on my cheek. "It's okay. I'll show you."
She guided my hand lower. I felt the heat of her first—a warmth that radiated through her skin, through the thin cottonof her underwear, through my palm. Then the wetness. The softness. The way her body opened to me like a flower.
"Here," she said, moving my fingers. "Like that."
I touched her the way she showed me. I watched her face—the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her lips parted, the way her breath came faster. I learned what she liked by the sounds she made, the small hitches and gasps, the way her hips pressed into my hand when I did something right.
"That's good," she whispered. "That's—Gabriel—"
She said my name and something in me broke.
I was already close—had been close since she kissed me, since her tongue touched mine, since she pressed her body against me in the wicker chair. The sound of my name on her lips, breathless and wanting, pushed me over the edge. I came in my pants like a teenager, my body jerking against hers, a low groan escaping my throat.
She stopped. Her hand went still on top of mine.
"Gabriel?"
I pulled away. Mortification flooded through me, hot and red, burning my cheeks, my chest, the back of my neck. I couldn't look at her. I stared at the orchids instead, at their purple petals, at the way they swayed in the breeze from the humidifier.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry. That was—"
"Gabriel. Look at me."
I couldn't. I couldn't.
She put her hand on my chin and turned my face toward hers.
"It's okay," she said. "That was..."
"Embarrassing."
"Cute."
I flinched. "Cute?"
She smiled—a real smile, warm and gentle, not mocking at all. "You're blushing. You came in your pants because I said your name. That's the most adorable thing that's ever happened to me."
"Adorable is worse than cute."
"Sweet, then. Endearing. Charming." She touched my cheek, and I leaned into her palm like a starved thing. "Gabriel, I don't care. I don't care about any of that. I care that you held my hand when I was crying. I care that you listen to me talk about veterinary medicine like it matters. I care that you want to be a doctor because you want to save people."
"I also want to—"
"I know what you want." Her voice dropped. "I want it too. But we have time. There's no rush."
"There is a rush. There's always a rush. My father—Nathan—this house—"
"Then we take the time we have." She kissed me—soft this time, almost chaste. "And we don't waste it worrying about things we can't control."
I pulled her into my arms. She fit against me like she'd been made for it, her head tucked under my chin, her arms around my waist. The greenhouse was dark now, the last of the light gone, the only illumination coming from the small LED grow lights above the orchids.
