I don't answer. I step past him into the house, not waiting for an invitation, and turn to face him as he closes the door behind us.
"I'm ready."
He goes still, the way he does when he's being careful. "Ready for what?"
"For this. For us." I move toward him, closing the distance between us. "I talked to a lawyer today. I told Cole everything. I'm not running from anything tonight, Will. I'm running toward something."
I stop in front of him, close enough to feel the heat of his body. His eyes search my face, looking for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that I'm not as sure as I sound.
"You're certain."
"Yes."
He cups my face in his hands, the same way he did in the office, and tilts my head up to meet his eyes. "We need a word. Something you can say if anything feels wrong."
"Red." It comes out without hesitation. "I want to use red."
"Red it is. You say it, everything stops. No questions, no pushing." His thumbs stroke my cheekbones. "And I need to ask—are you on birth control?"
"IUD. And I'm clean. I got tested after I left Craig."
"I'm clean too. Tested regularly." His eyes hold mine. "I have condoms if you want?—"
"No." I cover his hands with mine. "I want to feel you."
Heat flares in his eyes—heat and want and something deeper. He nods once, jaw tight.
Whatever he finds in my face makes his breath catch. His expression cracks open, raw and hungry, and then his mouth is on mine.
This kiss is nothing like the one in his office. That was restrained, careful, a question. This is an answer. His tongue strokes against mine, demanding and sure, and I open for him without thinking. His hands slide from my face to my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he pulls me against him until I can feel every inch of his body pressed to mine—the hard planes of his chest, the rigid length of him against my stomach.
A sound escapes me, something between a moan and a whimper, and he swallows it. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. His mouth drags down my jaw, my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point, and my knees nearly buckle.
"I've got you." His voice is rough, barely controlled. "Let go."
So I do. My body goes pliant in his arms, and there's no shame in it. No fear. Just want, pure and uncomplicated.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his breathing ragged. Then his hands slide down to grip my thighs, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and he carries me down the hallway, his mouth never leaving my skin. When we reach the bedroom, he sets me on the edge of the bed and drops to his knees in front of me. His hands rest on my thighs, and he looks up at me with dark eyes.
"I'm going to undress you now," he says, his voice low and steady. "If anything feels wrong, if anything reminds you of him, you tell me. We slow down, we stop, we do whatever you need. Understood?"
"Understood."
His fingers find the hem of my shirt, and he lifts it slowly, giving me time to change my mind at every moment. I raise my arms, let him pull it over my head, and feel the cool air hit my skin. His eyes travel over me, appreciative without being predatory, and warmth unfurls in my chest.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "You're so damn beautiful."
Craig used to tell me I was beautiful too, but it always felt like an assessment. A rating. Will says it like a revelation, like he's seeing something that genuinely moves him.
He reaches for the clasp of my bra, and I nod before he can ask. It falls away, and his hands cup me gently, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they harden under his touch. I gasp, arching into him, and he smiles.
"Responsive. I like that." He leans down to take one nipple into his mouth, and the sensation shoots straight to my core. "I want to hear you, Gemma. Don't hold back."
I don't. When his mouth moves to my other breast, I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders. When his hands slide down my stomach, slow and deliberate, I whimper.
He pops the button on my jeans, drags the zipper down, and I lift my hips to help him. He peels the denim down my legs, following the path with his mouth—a hot, open kiss to my hip bone, teeth grazing the crease of my thigh, lips brushing the inside of my knee. By the time he hooks his fingers in my underwear and pulls them down, I'm trembling, slick with want, making sounds I didn't know I was capable of.
He stands, still fully clothed, and runs his eyes over me. I'm bare before him, completely exposed, and I don't feel vulnerable. I feel powerful. I feel seen.
