“We speak to Dr. Whitcomb or Maeve if you want medical guidance. We decide one touch at a time. We never treat yesterday’s yes as today’s answer.”
His breathing began to slow.
“You have thought about this.”
“Constantly.”
“Were you afraid I would think you didn’t want me?”
“Yes.”
“I know you want me.”
“Good.”
His thumb moved over my shirt.
“I like that you want me.”
“Also good.”
“It scares me.”
“We can hold both truths.”
His gaze lowered to my mouth.
“Can we kiss?”
“Yes.”
“Only kissing.”
“Yes.”
I helped us lower onto our sides.
Noah faced me.
The mattress dipped between our bodies.
I placed one hand at his waist and the other beneath his neck, supporting him without trapping him.
He closed the distance himself.
Our mouths met.
Tenderness first.
Then warmth.
Noah kissed slowly, reclaiming control through each decision. His fingertips traced my beard, my cheek, the edge of my hair.
I did not guide his hand lower.
I did not press my hips toward him.
I did not test the boundary he had named.
