I let my fingers spread slightly, let my palm settle more firmly against his, watching his reaction, that shift of his shoulders like he’s bracing for something he doesn’t even know how to handle. He’s so goddamn nervous, his entire body locked up, and it’s making something settle hot and deep inside me.

I lean in just slightly, letting my lips part, my voice softer now, deliberate, making sure he hears every word I’m about to say. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

His eyes snap to mine instantly, and for the first time since Tate left the room, he looks desperate. Like he needs me to mean it. Needs me to say it again, to rewrite the script that’s been playing in his head for god knows how long, the one where he doesn’t get to have this, doesn’t get to have me.

His breathing picks up, his fingers twitching like he wants to curl them around mine but doesn’t trust himself to make the first move, like if he lets himself have even a fraction of what he wants, he won’t be able to stop.

I tighten my grip, just barely, just enough to let him feel the pressure, just enough to let him know I’m still here, still touching him, still choosing to be right here with him. His body shudders, his lashes flickering slightly, his throat working around another rough swallow. He doesn’t move, like a man holding onto the very last shred of his self-control, like he thinks if he stays perfectly frozen, if he doesn’t react, if he doesn’t acknowledge what’s happening, maybe it won’t be real, but it is. I let my fingers flex against his, slow, the heat of his skin beneath mine making something throb low and heavy, because he’s so goddamn tense, so clearly overwhelmed by the weight of whatever he’s feeling right now, and I can feel every ounce of it in the air between us.

I shift closer, slow enough that he could stop me, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, locked up, barely breathing, watching me with wide eyes, like he can’t quite believe I’m still here, still touching him, still pressing my fingers into his palm like I want him just as much as he wants me. And just to make sure he really understands that, I give him a little more. I let my other hand move, dragging up his forearm, slow and warm, my nails barely skimming the muscle there, my touch light but unmistakable.

His reaction is instantaneous. His whole body shudders, a sharp inhale stuttering through his chest, his fingers curling so tight against his knees that I almost think he’s going to tear the denim.