“But the sex-abus…” She pauses, her breath picking up. She licks her lips. Gazing up at me with those trusting chocolate eyes, she whispers, “Okay.”

I sweep her up in my arms and carry her back to her bedroom. I lay her down on the bed before taking a step back, trying to slow myself down. I want to luxuriate in every minute with Elizabeth tonight. I stand at the end of her bed, taking a moment to admire the tantalizing sight of her milky skin against the red silk.

She rakes her gaze down my body. I pull off my shirt, enjoying the way she bites her lip at the sight of my tight abs. She wants this as much as I do. Her gaze follows my hands as I flick open the fly on my jeans, one button at a time. I ease them down my thighs and kick them aside.

My thin boxer briefs riding low on my hips don’t do much to contain my hard cock. She can see the outline of every inch. She swallows hard as she stares up at me. Her breath is ragged and I know she’s both scared and excited.

“It’s okay, Goose. We can take this as slow as you need,” I tell her, not sure how much I mean it, how much self-control I have left. She nods but doesn’t speak.

I kneel on the bed at her feet and crawl up her body. My fingers, lips, and tongue dance along her skin as I go. I kiss the inside of her thigh and graze her panties with my thumb. I lick the crest of her hip as I trace up her stomach with my fingertips. I suck on her neck and caress her hard nipples through the thin fabric.

I pick up one end of the tie at her chest, twirling it around my finger with a smile. I pull slowly, undoing the bow that’s holding the delicate silk together. Once released, it glides down her sides and I’m rewarded with the glorious sight of her bare tits. I cup one in my hand and bring my mouth to the perky nipple of the other. Her skin is hot and delicious.

I spread her legs apart as I settle between them, resting just enough weight on her to feel the friction of our bodies coming together. I’d be in heaven if it weren’t for how rigid she is underneath me. She’s not the confident woman who was talking dirty on the couch just minutes ago. She’s flipped that switch in her head again. Anxiety overwhelms her. She’s scared and vulnerable. I need her to relax and trust me. Trust herself.

“You’re holding your breath.”

“Am I?” she says with a soft exhale.

“Yes. And you’ve got a death grip on the comforter,” I point out without taking my hands or mouth off her.

“Sorry.”