Page 96 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

It made her ovaries ache.

He took a seat on the couch and, leaning back, cupped her hips and gently guided her toward him. He opened his legs so she could slide between them, then looked up at her and, sweet baby Jesus, he made her want to do filthy, filthy things.

In the past, sex had been … was fine the word she was searching for? Predictable was more like it.

Lights dimmed. Sheets pulled high. Her body treated like something functional instead of something worthy of attention.

But Colter wanted to see. And she wanted to let him.

“Can you—” Her voice wobbled, so she steadied it. “Can you unzip my dress?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I can do that.”

His fingers brushed her back—slow, reverent—as he found the zipper and drew it down inch by inch. The sound felt impossibly loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosened, slipped away, until the dress pooled at her feet and she stood there in nothing but mango-colored lace and nerves.

He exhaled, low and stunned. “Christ, Sutton.”

Heat rushed to her face. Instinctively, she crossed her arms, trying to hide the parts of herself she’d learned to apologize for.

“I know. I don’t exactly—” She gestured vaguely. “This is what happens when you have a c-section.”

Her gaze dropped to the faint stretch marks at her hips. The softness. The way things weren’t where they used to be.

Colter didn’t let her finish. He gently caught her wrists and, pulling her hands away from her body, held her arms out to her sides—not exposing her, but steadying her.

“Hey,” Colter said quietly. “Your body isn’t something that happened to you.” His thumbs brushed the inside of her wrists. “It’s something you did that is incredible.”

He met her eyes, unflinching. “It carried a child. It protected her. It gave her life.” His voice softened. “That’s strength, Sutton. And there’s nothing more beautiful than a woman who’s lived in her body and come out stronger for it.”

The truth of it hit her harder than she expected. Not because she hadn’t known it, but because no one had ever said it to her like that—without pity, without qualification. Just fact. Just pride. And surprisingly, she let herself believe him.

“Every part of you tells a story,” he continued. “A story that takes my breath away. A story I want to be a part of.”

The words scared her more than she wanted to admit. Her story wasn’t neat or whole—it had gaps, sharp turns, chapters she’d skipped just to survive. Letting someone be part of it meant letting them see all of that. And yet… wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted?

She looked up, breath caught as his thumbs brushed soothing circles over her wrists.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, like it was a fact, not an offhanded compliment. “All of you.”

Something in her chest cracked open. The kind of crack that let the light in. And standing there, held in his steady hands, seen without flinching, Sutton felt like the most beautiful woman on the planet.

CHAPTER 36

“Now it’s my turn.”

Her fingertips skimmed down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, lingering at his waistband, her thumbs dipping beneath it, just long enough to make him exhale. She worked each button of his shirt loose.

“I like your shirt,” she murmured.

“I’d like it better draped over your naked, satisfied body.”

“Something about a crisp button-down and tailored slacks does terrible, wonderful things to me.”

“Something about a woman in my crisp button-down does something for me, too.”

“Then I guess we’d better get to that part.”

“Not on my watch. There won’t be rushing or mishandling, we’re going to do this right. We’re going to take our time—so slow you’ll be begging for me to sink inside you, begging for every inch, begging for permission to come. I’m not rushing a damn thing.”