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“The first time I’ve wanted anyone to touch me. The first time I’ve felt safe enough. Ready enough. So I might—I don’t know what’s going to happen. I might freeze or panic or⁠—”

“Then we stop.” His hands framed her face, his eyes intense. “Elena, listen to me. We do this at your pace. We go as far as you want and no further. And if at any point you need to stop, we stop. No questions, no pressure, no making you feel bad about it. Okay?”

She felt the tension leave her shoulders. “Okay.”

“And Elena?” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m nervous too.”

That surprised her. “You are?”

“Terrified. Because I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t want to trigger something or push too far or—” He took a shaky breath. “I’ve thought about this for years. About what it would be like to touch you, to be with you. But I never want it to be something that scares you or brings back bad memories.”

Something inside her cracked open at his vulnerability. He wasn’t treating this casually. Wasn’t assuming just because she’d invited him that everything would be easy.

“I’m not made of glass,” she said. “I’m stronger than I look. You helped me get that way.”

“I know you’re strong. But strong people still deserve gentleness.”

She kissed him then, pouring everything she felt into it. When she pulled back, they were both breathing hard.

“Shower,” she said. “Now. Before I lose my nerve.”

The bathroom was enormous, all marble and glass. Elena’s hands shook slightly as she turned on the water, adjusting the temperature. When she turned back, Brock was watching her with an intensity that made her skin flush.

“You can still change your mind,” he said.

“I know. I’m not going to.” She pulled her sundress over her head in one smooth motion, standing before him in just her bikini. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but it wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. Desire. The knowledge that she was choosing this.

His eyes tracked over her, and she saw the barely restrained hunger there. But also the care. The concern.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice reverent.

Her hands went to the tie of her bikini top, then hesitated. This was it. The moment she’d take back her body completely. Prove to herself that what had been taken could also be freely given.

“Elena.” Brock’s voice was gentle. “We don’t have to⁠—”

“I want to. I’m just—” She took a breath. “Seven years. It’s been seven years since anyone’s seen me like this. Since I’ve let anyone close.”

“Then we go slow.” He crossed to her, but instead of reaching for her bikini, his hands rested on her shoulders. “Tell me what you need.”

What she needed was for him to understand. “When they—when it happened—I wasn’t in control. I couldn’t say no, couldn’t stop them, couldn’t make my body my own. Every touch was about power and pain and taking.”

His jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet, letting her talk.

“Being with you needs to be different. Needs to be about me choosing. About me being in control of what happens to my body.”

“Then you’re in control,” he said immediately. “Completely. You tell me what you want, what you don’t want, what feels good, what doesn’t. And I listen. Okay?”

The relief was so intense it made her dizzy. “Okay.”

She reached behind her back and undid the bikini top, letting it fall. Brock’s breath caught, but he didn’t move, didn’t reach for her. Just looked at her with something close to reverence.

“You can touch me,” she said softly. “I want you to touch me.”

His hands moved slowly, sliding from her shoulders down her arms, then back up. Learning her. Letting her get used to the sensation.

When his fingers traced the curve of her waist, she shivered—but it was pleasure, not fear.

“Okay?” he asked.