“Safe. Loved.”
My chest tightened.
Noah continued before I could speak.
“I remembered wanting him too. That mattered.”
“Because desire has felt uncertain since the accident?”
“Yes.”
He stared at our joined hands.
“I understood sex as information. I understood that Reid and I had a sexual relationship. There are messages. Photographs. Stories. I could accept the facts.”
His thumb stopped moving.
“But understanding that we had sex and imagining myself doing anything intimate were not remotely the same.”
“That response is common after trauma.”
“It didn’t feel common.”
“Did it feel frightening?”
Noah’s grip tightened.
I looked at him.
He kept his attention on Dr. Whitcomb.
“Yes.”
She waited.
The silence gave him room without demanding that he fill it.
Noah released a slow breath.
“I want Reid. My body responds to him. Kissing him feels good. Touching him feels good.”
The color in his face deepened.
“But sometimes, when I imagine going farther, something in me locks.”
“Do you know what you expect to happen?”
“No.”
“What sensation comes first?”
He frowned.
“Pressure.”
“Physical?”
“Not exactly.”
