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I felt better.

Not good, but better.

I considered that a win as I shut off the water and reached for my towel. Once I’d dried off, I threw on my boxers, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.

Tomorrow I would see her again. And somewhere, I would have to find the strength to walk into her apartment and actually teach her about sex without fucking touching her. That seemed a hell of a lot harder than catching a damn mouse.

Thankfully, I was too exhausted to overthink it. I settled into my spot, and it wasn’t long before I was out. When I woke up the next morning, tomorrow night had become tonight, and I lay there for over an hour, trying to decide what I wanted to teach her and how. And before I knew it, I was back in the damn shower, praying the cold water would help me get my head on straight.

Night rolled around, and I didn’t have a damn plan. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I had too many plans, and every one of them ended with me doing shit I had no business doing. I spent the day running through possibilities, discarding each and every one because they were all too much, too little, too close, or too damn dangerous.

By the time I pulled up to Emery’s apartment, I’d settled on the one thing I trusted myself to teach her.

Control.

Hers and mine.

I’d barely knocked when she opened the door, and one look at her told me that she had her own thoughts about the night. And it wasn’t just some casual favor between friends. She had a nervous spark in her eyes, one that made me want to comfort her and ruin her at the same time.

She wasn’t wearing the nightie. Instead, she was wearing some of her workout clothes. Not the one I’d mentioned the night before, but one that was very similar. And it looked damn good on her, and she knew it.

I stepped inside, locked the door behind me, and ordered, “Bedroom.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded and started down the hallway. I stepped into the small room, and the first thing I noticed was the wine glass on her dresser. It still had a ring of red wine drying at the bottom, and there was a candle next to it that she hadn’t lit. She’d made the bed and arranged the pillows just so.

I could tell with one look that she’d thought about me being in there.

I’d thought about it, too.

I slipped off my cut and hooked it on the bedpost before turning my attention to her. The second her eyes met mine, I motioned my head toward the bed and said, “Sit.”

She immediately complied, resting her hands in her lap and looking to me like I was about to do something she needed to brace for. “Give me your hand.”

She did that too, quicker than I’d expected. I didn’t grip it. Instead, I laid it palm-down over mine, letting the tips of her fingers brush against my own. I kept my voice low and steady as I told her, “We’re not doing anything tonight. Not the way you think.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“Learning what you like.” I guided her hand up along her own forearm, slow and easy. There was no pressure. Just me guiding her as I said, “Not what you think you should like, but what you actually do.”

She inhaled a quick breath when her fingers crossed the inside of her elbow. It wasn’t much. I don’t think she even noticed it, but I did. “Right there. You felt that.”

“It’s my elbow, Ravage.”

“It’s not about the elbow.”

I moved her hand higher, over her shoulder and to her collarbone. I kept my hand under hers, guiding her as I leaned in and said, “It’s about you getting out of your head and feeling what’s right in front of you. You’ve spent your whole life bracing for what comes next. I want you to feel what’s happening right now, in this moment.”

I guided her hand along the ridge of her collarbone, feeling her take a deep breath. We hovered there for a moment, and then I whispered, “Lean back.”

Her eyes flashed with doubt, but she did it, easing back with her chin tilted like she was daring me to make the next move. I didn’t. That was the whole point. “Close your eyes.”

She obeyed, and without her looking at me, the whole room changed. It got quieter, heavier, and every breath she took sounded strained. The slight distance between us felt like a dare I had no business accepting. I took her hand again and guided it slowly from her collarbone to her shoulder, then down the outside of her arm.

“Tell me what you feel.”

“Nervous.”

“Good.”