The words came rough but certain.
I moved the blanket aside.
My fingers found the waistband of his sleep pants and stopped there.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
I lowered the fabric only far enough to free him.
The sight nearly undid me.
I had known Noah in every possible state of desire before the accident. I had seen him flushed and impatient, laughing, demanding, vulnerable. I had watched pleasure take him apart in rooms, boats, hallways, and beds.
This was not a return to any of those moments.
This was Noah opening a door he had been afraid to approach and trusting me to stand beside him while he crossed it.
I wrapped my hand around him.
His breath fractured.
“Green?”
“Yes.”
I stroked once.
His head pressed back against the pillow.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened on my shoulder.
I kept the pace unhurried.
Noah watched my face more than my hand. Every time pleasure sharpened, his eye returned to me, checking that I had not changed into someone else.
I kissed him.
His mouth opened immediately beneath mine.
His hips began to follow my rhythm.
I adjusted to him.
No goal, I reminded myself.
No destination required.
His body had begun moving toward one anyway.
His breathing quickened.
“Reid.”
