“You first.”
His expression darkened with anticipation.
I undressed him slowly, adjusting every movement around the injured leg. He lifted his hips only as much as necessary, trusting my hands to guide the fabric away without twisting him.
When he was bare before me, I stopped.
I had seen him countless times before the accident. Since then, I had seen him during bathing, dressing, examinations, and the cautious explorations we had begun together.
Familiar did not mean ordinary.
Nothing about Noah had ever been ordinary to me.
I bent and kissed the inside of his thigh, then the skin near the scar at his hip.
His breath snagged.
“Pain?”
“No.”
I looked up. “Tell me immediately if that changes.”
“I promise.”
I touched him with my hand, and his eyes fell closed.
“No,” he said.
I stopped at once.
His eyes opened.
“I don’t want to shut you out. I want to watch.”
The words sent heat through me.
I held his gaze as I lowered my head.
The first touch of my mouth made his fingers curl around the edge of the table. A strained, disbelieving sound escaped him.
I kept every movement slow enough for him to follow. Warmth, pressure, the careful rhythm of my hand. I watched his face for pain and found only wonder giving way to pleasure.
His hips shifted.
I steadied his thigh without holding him down.
“Still green?”
“Yes.”
I continued.
His breath broke. The self-conscious control in his expression began to dissolve, leaving him open and achingly beautiful.
One of his hands lifted toward my hair and stopped halfway.
“You can touch me,” I said.
