The robe falls open at the hip. Underneath, there’s only me. Nothing else between us.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So f*****g beautiful, it hurts me.”
“Don’t tease me. I’ll start crying again.”
“I’m not teasing,” he scolds. “I’m admiring.”
“Well, do it faster. Can’t you see I’m dying here?”
His hand slips between my thighs. He’s careful with me, the way he’s been careful with me since the park—no, since the hospital—no, since the alley where we first met. Careful, like I’m something he can’t afford to break. Even though I see how bad he wants to do just that: break me.
Two fingers, exploratory, finding their way. I am embarrassingly ready for him. He hums low in his throat when he discovers that. “Already?”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, then the hinge of my jaw, then the place be
