“Don’t do that.” He smiled up toward her, the gratuitous expanse of it creasing little curves into his face. “You’re too beautiful.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Oh, god,” he breathed, bringing his face once more against hers. “Please don’t ever question how beautiful you are to me.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest, and she pressed closer against him to feel it better.

Once again, his words of approval felt delicious, a meal she couldn’t help but overindulge in. He brought himself fully upright and pulled her onto him, so ready for her that she felt he might split her in two. Her chest jumped with a sharp, almost painful gasp. He was so generous, felt so generous within her, that she could only return his gratuitous affection. “And you,” she whispered, bringing her hands to each side of his face and insisting he meet her gaze, “You are incredible.”

He transformed at her words, sweet and unassuming and eager for her to continue. “Really?” he asked, slowing the movement of his hips.

“Danial,” she breathed, and he shuddered at the sound of it. “You know how incredible I think you are.”

There was a strange liminal space of verbal intimacy that their physical closeness provided, and Alex leaned into it. She relished saying the terrifying, honest words she could later pass off as sex talk, if needed.

“You still think that?” He closed his eyes again, brows knitting in pleasure. “I thought you hated me.”

“Stop it,” she answered, not quite denying it, bringing her mouth to his to quiet the both of them.

The words I love you felt like daggers rising up from the base of her stomach, threatening to derail this perfect moment as she nearly drowned herself with his kiss. Even in this altered state, she wouldn’t allow herself that level of exposure. He wanted to have her, to prick the balloon of tension that had been expanding between them for over a decade. And she could respect that, because she wanted it, too. But she wanted so much more from him, wanted everything she had written in that cursed letter at twenty-two years old. She wanted everything she knew wasn’t possible, so she contented herself with retaining the control that was constantly slipping through her fingers in his presence.

She brought her forehead to his once more, shutting her eyes tightly against him. “You–” she started, searching for a compliment that felt safe to offer. “You’re so—”

“Are you going to call me your friend again?” he panted, moving within her more forcefully. She dug her nails into the beautiful spot where his thick black hair met his long neck. “Look at me,” he commanded, and her eyes snapped to meet his, “Are you going to tell me how much I have to offer?” His voice was jagged and low, sounding nearly furious.