Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
“I know what I’m doing,” I say before he can ask. “I know what this means.”
His eyes search mine. “I don’t want to be something you regret.
“Never.”
And just like that, the distance between us disappears.
We undress each other slowly, deliberately, like each layer is a secret we’re finally allowed to share. My hands find the hem of his shirt, soft cotton beneath my palms, and I lift it with trembling fingers. He raises his arms, making it easy, his eyes locked on mine, searching for hesitation—finding none. The shirt slips over his head and onto the floor. My breath catches at the sight of him, the way his skin glows gold in the lamplight, the curve of his shoulders, the vulnerability written in the way he lets me see him, just as he is. The way his muscles tense and flex as if he’s holding back while his body is on fire with desire.
He touches my face, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, then trails down the line of my throat. There’s a question in his touch, one I answer by reaching for his belt, undoing it with a patience I didn’t know I possessed. Every click, every whisper of fabric, is a revelation. He helps me, too, unzipping my dress slowly pausing to press a kiss to my shoulder as each patch of skin is revealed. Goosebumps rise on my arms, not from cold, but from the nearness of him, the weight of his attention.
His hands tremble just once, and so do mine. We pause, a nervous laugh escaping me, and he leans in, kissing me, steadying us both. We finish undressing each other with that same sacred slowness, as if we’re afraid to break the spell. I feel exposed, but not naked; his gaze shields me, his hands worship me. For the first time, I feel precious, chosen. Not just wanted, but seen.
He lays me down on the bed, not rushed, not frenzied, but careful, cherished. The sheets are cool beneath me. He brushes my hair away from my face, his fingers gentle, his smile soft. The emotion in his eyes is so intense, so real, that I forget what it’s like to be afraid. For years, my body felt like something borrowed, something I had to hide or defend. But here, with him, I feel safe. I feel like maybe I belong to myself again.
He settles beside me, his body warm and solid, his arm curling under my neck. He kisses me again, slower this time, lingering, as if he wants to memorize the shape of my mouth. His hand drifts over my stomach, my hip, learning the curve of my body like he’s reading a map he’s wanted to study for ages. I arch into his touch, letting myself feel—really feel—every place our skin connects.
He pauses, searching my face again, asking with his eyes if I want this. I nod, too full for words, and he smiles, the kind of smile that makes my heart stutter. I’ve never gone this far with a man, but I’m not scared. Not with him. Because he looks at me like I’m more than my past. Like I’m more than what I’ve lost. His hand settles at my waist, grounding me, and I exhale, letting go of old fears.
He moves over me, his weight gentle, his body fitting to mine like we were always meant to meet like this. His lips travel over my collarbone, down the center of my chest, leaving a trail of warmth and longing. He murmurs my name, the sound of it a prayer, a promise. My hands tangle in his hair, holding him close, anchoring myself to the here and now.
I know about sex. My mom got paid for it more than once and left me to sit in a closet while she did it. The memory flashes behind my eyelids, sharp and ugly. But when he touches me, none of that matters. With him, it’s not about transaction or survival. It’s about connection. It’s about choosing.
I choose him. He chooses me.
When our bodies finally meet, when he moves with me, inside me, it’s not just physical—it’s everything. It’s surrender and trust. It’s healing. His body presses into mine, slow and deep, and I gasp at the feeling, the fullness, the ache that isn’t pain but something softer, something sweeter. He holds me like I’m something sacred, like he’s honored to be here—with me—for this. Every thrust is a promise, every breath a vow.
We move together, finding a rhythm that belongs only to us. The world outside the room dissolves—there is only the hush of our breathing, the quiet urgency of our bodies, the thud of our hearts beating in time. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting all of him. He buries his face in my neck, his breath hot, his voice rough with feeling. “Cambria,” he whispers, as if saying my name can hold us both together.