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“It-it’s okay. Y-you don’t have to, um… I think maybe it’s too hard, asking too much from you.” Sadness and frustration lace each and every word, shooting daggers straight through my heart.

The fucking tap dance, going round and round and never catching our own tails, is completely out of control.

I tag her hand and hold on. “Truie. Love. Hummingbird. There is no one in the world I want to be with aside from you.” I crouch down so we are eye to eye. There is no room for misunderstanding here. “I assure you. I want nothing more than to take you to bed. I want to fuck you. Don’t doubt that for a second. But I made a promise not to hurt you and I won’t. I’ll not lay a hand on you until you’re ready, no matter how blue my balls become. You, love, you are in control. Whatever we do, it’s at your pace. You want me to kiss your pussy again, I’ll do it. Fucking happy to taste you, watch your cheeks turn pink, and see that sweet, satisfied smile on your face.”

She shakes her head a-fucking-gain. The desire to slay her monsters, real and those in her nightmares, rears up in me.

“Come on. Come to bed and”—her gaze whips to mine—“you make the rules.” I move past her, her hand still held firmly in mine and guide her back to my—our—bedroom. Because I’ll be damned if anyone other than her will ever see the inside of that sacred space.

She follows me, and I loosen my grasp, giving her the option to sever our connection. Thank fuck, she does no such thing.

I stand at the side of the bed and with slow, deliberate movements, work the fastenings of my trousers free and let them drop to the floor.

Her gaze drops immediately, taking in the straining fabric of my boxer briefs.

“Shit, Tig, I d-don’t know if I can…” Truie casts her eyes down.

The nickname, as often as I heard it growing up, has me stopping in my tracks as it spills from her lips. “You remember that?”

“What?”

“Haven’t been called that by anyone since the night I pulled you out. You remember that?”

She sits on the edge of the mattress, searching her memories. “Yes?”

Nervous to thoughtful to pensive, and now frustration and self-flagellation are fighting for the limelight.

“Fuck, I’m b-broken. Why d-do you even want to b-bother with me?” The sudden reversion back to stuttering kills me, but those words pierce my heart.

“Look at me, Truie.” I kneel down in front of her and tilt her beautiful face to meet my gaze. “You are the strongest woman I have ever met. You’re not broken. Maybe a little bent, but you are not broken. Do you understand me?” At her subtle nod, I continue, “Now, I’m going to crawl into bed and lay down, flat on my back. What you do with that is up to you. I’m yours. Yours to touch. Yours to explore. Yours to play with, anything you want. If you want to curl up next to me and sleep, then that’s what we’ll do, yeah?”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip making the prettiest little indents and, no matter how tight my control, my dick flexes. Christ, I want her bad.

“Sorry. It’s biology, but I swear to you, I’ll not move a single muscle unless you tell me to.” I rock back on my toes and push to standing.

The cold sheets rustle as I sit down and slide between them, all of the warmth from earlier leached away, and my skin pulls tight into goose flesh.

Truie turns, her knee hiked up, body twisted as she looks her fill.

I fold my arms, tucking my hands behind my head, and try to relax. “I’ll stay just like this.”

“Until I tell you otherwise,” she says.

“Until you tell me otherwise,” I confirm.

Her gaze sweeps up my body, and I can feel each spot it touches like the sweetest teasing caress.

My blood pumps slow and heavy through my veins, much of it opting to go south. I grit my teeth and mentally go through the steps of stripping my weapon and cleaning it to will my dick from going full mast, but there’s no hiding when it thickens, pressing against the soft fabric of my briefs.

The mattress dips as she crawls up from the foot of the bed and perches next to me on her knees. “That’s, uh…”

“All yours, hummingbird. You do that just by looking at me. Just by being you.”

She reaches out and then pauses, her hand hovering just above my thigh. Timid. Unsure. “I can touch you? Like this?” Her eyes dart to mine then back to my dick—growing with every heartbeat—as she trails her fingers up the line of muscle from my knee.

“Anything you want,” is what I tell her, while every fiber of my being begs for more, more, more.

A touch so soft it should be lethal, glides along the outline of my dick, tracing the length before following the ridge of my crown and pressing against the blunt head. I could die from the delicate touch.