Cameron felt the exact second she tipped over the edge. The sudden, frantic tightening of her thighs against his ears and the beautiful, deep, rhythmic clenching of her muscles around his buried fingers sent a shockwave of pure adrenaline straight to his heart. Hearing his name tear from her throat—a raw, keening sob of absolute surrender—was the single most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his twenty-five years on earth.

He didn't stop. He refused to let her fall alone. As she shattered beneath him, Cameron swallowed her release, his mouth pressing firmly against her slick heat to catch every shuddering tremor, his tongue gently soothing the hypersensitive bundle of nerves he had just spent the last ten minutes ruthlessly destroying. He kept his fingers buried deep inside her, holding his hand steady so she could pulse and milk around him, wanting her to feel him anchoring her through every single aftershock.

When her breathless sobs finally quieted into soft, ragged pants, he slowly, reverently withdrew his fingers. He pressed one last, impossibly tender kiss to the damp, trembling skin of her inner thigh before he finally moved.

His massive frame slid up the mattress, the heat of his skin dragging over hers until he was hovering over her again. He caged her in with his thick forearms, his broad chest heaving, a fine sheen of sweat making the heavy muscles of his shoulders gleam in the silver moonlight. He looked down at her flushed, beautiful face, at the way her chest was still rapidly rising and falling, and felt a surge of love so intense it almost knocked the wind out of him.

He brought his mouth down on hers, kissing her slow and deep, deliberately sharing the salt and sweet taste of her own climax. He wanted her to know exactly how much he loved every part of her, how completely unapologetic he was about what they were doing.
"I've got you," he whispered fiercely against her lips, his voice a gravelly, wrecked rumble. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm right here."

He didn't push a single fraction further. He remembered exactly what she had said when she pulled him onto the bed, and tonight was about proving to her that he was safe, that his word actually meant something, and that he wanted *her* far more than he wanted to get off.

With a long, shaky exhale, Cameron shifted his weight. Instead of settling between her legs, he rolled to his side, gently pulling her with him until she was flush against his side. He wrapped his large, heavy arms around her waist and tucked her head neatly under his chin, cradling her against the broad expanse of his chest. The aching, rigid throb of his own arousal pressed against her thigh—an undeniable physical reality of how completely undone he still was—but he made absolutely no move to do anything about it.

He reached down, his thick hand blindly finding the edge of the duvet at the foot of the mattress and pulling it up to cover them both, shielding her bare, trembling skin from the cool air of the room.

Once they were tangled together under the covers, he just held her. He pressed his face into the soft, blonde silk of her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the faint, lingering smell of the lilies that permeated the apartment. His large hand smoothed slowly down her bare back, tracing the delicate line of her spine over and over again in a quiet, deeply grounding rhythm.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple as he pressed a long, tender kiss to her hairline. "I'm not going anywhere, Luce. I promise."

He was still vibrating with need, every heavy muscle in his body pulled tight with restraint, but as she settled securely against his chest, her breathing finally slowing to match his, Cameron felt a profound, settling peace. He had the woman he loved back in his arms, trusting him enough to let her guard down, and he had the rest of his life to show her he wasn't going to let go again.

The weight of him was a comfort she had forgotten her body could crave so deeply. As Cameron pulled her flush against the solid, radiating warmth of his side, Lucy let out a long, shuddering sigh, her forehead coming to rest in the hollow of his throat. The world felt quiet, the silver light of the moon casting a soft glow over the duvet that now shielded them.

Her hand, still trembling slightly from the force of her release, drifted up to his face. Her fingertips traced the sharp, familiar line of his jaw, feeling the slight prickle of his stubble, before her palm settled over his heart. Beneath her touch, his chest was a broad, heaving landscape of muscle, his heart thudding in a heavy, grounding rhythm that she wanted to memorize.

She listened to his promise, the gravelly sincerity of his voice vibrating through her own skin. For the first time in six years, the hollow ache in her chest didn't feel like a wound; it felt like a space being filled. She nodded slowly, her hair brushing against his chin, and let his words wash over her until the last of her defenses dissolved.

"I believe you," she mumbled against his skin, her voice small and thick with emotion. "I really do."

She stayed there for a moment, simply breathing him in—the scent of him, the heat, the sheer physical reality of his presence. Then, with a soft, tired smile, she tilted her head back to look up at him. Her eyes, still dark and hazy with the lingering fog of pleasure, searched his.

"Don't think you're getting off that easy, Cameron Tate," she whispered, a trace of her usual spark returning to her voice. "I am definitely not done with you. I just need... give me five minutes to recoup, and then it's my turn."

She reached down, her smaller hand finding his large, calloused one where it rested against her waist. She interlaced their fingers, her thumb idly tracing the ridges of his knuckles and the strength in his hand. It was a tether, a way to make sure he was still there. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she let them fall shut, inhaling a deep, lung-filling breath of him as she drifted in the quiet, perfect space between them.

Lucy let out a soft, hummed breath of contentment, her fingers continuing their lazy, rhythmic play with his much larger ones. The silence of the room was thick and sweet, broken only by the steady syncopation of their breathing. She felt the heavy, rigid line of his thigh against hers—a silent testament to his restraint—and she felt a fresh wave of affection for him swell in her chest.

"You know," she started, her voice a low, honeyed rasp that felt intimate in the quiet air. She shifted slightly, just enough to look up at the shadow of his jawline. "We've had a lot of years and a lot of... moments. But out of every orgasm you’ve ever given me? That was probably one of the best ones. Maybe even the best."

She didn't wait for him to process the praise. With a soft, feline grace, she nuzzled her face back into the warm, salt-sweet curve of his neck. She breathed him in deeply, the scent of him acting like a drug on her senses, before she began to trace a path of slow, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"Mmm," she murmured against his pulse point, her lips dragging downward. She moved with a deliberate, agonizing slowness, her kisses light and fluttering at first before becoming firmer as she worked her way down the corded muscle of his neck.

Every touch was a reclamation, a way of marking him as hers just as thoroughly as he had marked her. She could feel the way his body reacted—the hitch in his breath, the subtle tightening of his hold—and it made her smile against his skin. She wasn't just recouping; she was savoring the calm before she inevitably pulled him back into the storm.

Cameron let his eyes fall shut, his head dropping back against the pillows as her words washed over him. *I believe you.* The quiet, profound weight of that admission hit him harder than a fastball to the ribs. For six years, he had imagined coming back, imagined looking her in the eye and trying to apologize, but he had never dared to hope she would actually let him all the way back in. He squeezed the small hand she had laced with his, bringing her knuckles up to press a fierce, reverent kiss against them in the dark.

He was just starting to get his heart rate under some semblance of control when she dropped her next bomb.

A startled, breathless laugh punched its way out of his chest—a sound that was half boyish disbelief and half pure, unadulterated arousal. He shifted under the duvet, the rigid ache of his body protesting the movement, as she casually informed him that she was going to take her turn. And then, right as she pressed her face into his neck, she delivered a compliment that made his brain completely and totally short-circuit.

*One of the best ones. Maybe even the best.*

Cameron’s breath hitched violently as her lips grazed the sensitive skin just below his ear. His large hand, resting protectively on the bare dip of her waist, flexed involuntarily, his heavy fingertips digging just slightly into the soft curve of her hip. A low, ragged groan vibrated deep in his chest, rumbling right against the cheek she had pressed to his throat. Hearing that he had managed to give her something better than anyone else in the years he’d been gone stoked a fierce, primitive kind of pride in him that was dangerously close to burning out of control.

"Jesus, Luce," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick and gravelly in the quiet room. He turned his head just enough to press his lips against her hairline, his chest rising and falling in erratic, heavy stutters. "If that was only *maybe* the best... I guess I'm just going to have to try harder next time. I've got six years of lost time to make up for, and I plan on putting in the practice until there isn't even a close second."

He felt the soft drag of her mouth moving down his neck, her kisses deliberate and torturously slow, and his jaw locked tightly in an effort to stay still. He was a large guy, built solid from years of college ball, but under the delicate, fluttering touch of her lips, he felt like he was entirely defenseless. Every deliberate brush of her mouth, every soft breath against his skin, sent a jolt of agonizing heat straight down his torso.

"Five minutes," he choked out, his eyes squeezing shut as her lips found the erratic thud of his pulse point. He shifted his grip, bringing his free hand up to softly cup the back of her head, his thick fingers tangling lightly in the cool silk of her blonde hair. He wasn't pushing her away; he was just holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the mattress. "Take all the time you need, sweetheart. But if you keep doing that... I'm not gonna make it to five."

He rolled his broad shoulders back against the pillows, opening his chest up to her a fraction more, implicitly offering himself to whatever she wanted to do next. He was completely stripped of his defenses, entirely, blissfully wrecked by her touch, and he had never been happier in his entire life to hand over the control.

Lucy felt the low, rumbling vibration of his laugh against her cheek, and it was the most intoxicating sound she’d heard in years. It was the sound of the boy she’d loved becoming the man she couldn’t live without. As he tightened his grip on her hip, his touch heavy and possessive, she felt a fresh surge of power blooming in her chest. She loved that she could still wreck him this easily.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes dancing with a playful, silver-lit mischief despite the heavy haze of lingering pleasure. She traced the frantic thud of his pulse with her thumb, feeling the heat radiating off his broad chest.

"I wouldn't dream of letting you get blue balls, Cameron Tate," she whispered, her voice a low, sultry tease that made the air between them charge with static. "Especially not after what you just did to me. That would just be bad manners, wouldn't it? And I was raised better than that."

She didn't give him a chance to respond. She shifted her weight, the duvet rustling as she began to move. Her lips brushed against the center of his chest, her breath hot against his skin as she murmured the words, "Besides, I've always been a fan of your stamina. Let's see if six years has changed anything."

She began a slow, torturous descent. Her kisses were soft, deliberate anchors as she moved down the center of his torso, tracing the hard, defined line of his abdominal muscles. Her fingertips grazed his sides, her nails light as air, sending shivers over his skin that she could feel under her touch. She felt him straining, his muscles coiling like a spring, and she took her sweet time, savoring the way he sucked in a sharp, jagged breath every time her hair brushed his stomach.

When she reached the source of his heat, she didn't rush. She settled between his legs, her blonde hair spilling over his thighs like silk. She looked up at him for one brief, searing second—a silent acknowledgement of the shift in power—before she leaned down.

She didn't take him in yet. Instead, she leaned in close, her warm breath fanning over him, before she began to tease him. She swirled her tongue slowly, agonizingly around the very tip of him, tasting the salt of his skin and the heavy proof of his need. She felt him jerk beneath her, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat, and she hummed against him, a dark, satisfied sound that told him exactly how much she enjoyed having him right where she wanted him.

Lucy didn't look away from him as she worked, her eyes hooded and dark with a focused, predatory intent. She wanted him to feel every ounce of the hunger she’d been forced to suppress for half a decade.

Starting at the very base of his shaft, the tip of her tongue flicked upward in a slow, agonizingly wet line, tracing the heavy vein that throbbed with his heartbeat. She moved with a rhythmic, steady deliberation, savoring the way his hips bucked off the mattress in a blind, reflexive jerk. When she reached the top, she didn't hesitate; she opened her mouth and fully consumed the head of him, her heat swirling around him in a tight, wet velvet grip.

Her hand wrapped firmly around the base of his length, her knuckles grazing the hair at his groin as she began to stroke him. She moved in a flawless, synchronized motion—her mouth sliding down as her hand moved up, creating a seamless, crushing friction that drew a fractured, high-pitched gasp from his lungs.

She kept her jaw loose and relaxed, allowing him to slide deep against the back of her throat. To push him even further over the edge, her free hand reached lower, her fingers dancing lightly over his heavy, tight balls. She teased and rolled them with a gentle, kneading pressure, feeling the way his entire body vibrated with the effort of not coming right then and there.

Lucy was relentless. She didn't slow her pace, not even when she heard his fingers curling into the bedsheets or felt his large hands reaching down to blindly grasp at her hair. She was a woman possessed, devouring him with a rhythmic, ruthless focus, determined to show him that while he might have worshiped her center, she was more than capable of returning the favor until he was nothing but a memory of a man beneath her.

Lucy didn’t want there to be a single inch of distance between them, even as she was buried in the heat of him. She wanted him to feel the connection, the raw intimacy of her mouth on his skin combined with the grounding weight of his touch.

Keeping her rhythm steady and her mouth tight around him, she reached up blindly with her free hand, her fingers searching the tangled sheets until she found his large, trembling hand. She didn't just grab it; she threaded her fingers firmly through his, pulling his arm down until their laced hands were pinned against the mattress right beside her head.

The contrast was staggering—the rough, calloused strength of his hand locked with hers while she worked over him with a soft, wet, and ruthless devotion. She squeezed his hand hard every time she took him deeper, using the physical link to feel the tremors racking his massive frame.

Through their joined palms, she could feel his pulse racing, matching the frantic thud of her own heart. She increased the suction, her tongue swirling around him in a slick, demanding rhythm that forced a low, broken sound from his throat. She wasn't just giving him pleasure; she was claiming him, anchoring him to her with every stroke of her hand and every deep, consuming pull of her mouth. She kept her eyes locked on his chest, watching it heave in the moonlight, refusing to let up for a single second as she drove him toward the same beautiful, shattering edge he had just given her.

Cameron’s brain essentially flatlined the second the words "blue balls" and "stamina" left her mouth. A ragged, disbelieving sound tore from his throat, part breathless laugh and part desperate groan. The sweet, guarded girl he had dated in high school was gone, replaced by this fierce, unimaginably confident woman who knew exactly how much power she held over him—and he was absolutely obsessed with her.

When her lips began their slow, torturous descent down his stomach, Cameron’s entire body went rigid. His abdominal muscles flexed hard, cording with tension beneath the agonizingly soft flutter of her kisses. Every time the heavy silk of her hair dragged across his bare skin, a violent shiver wrecked its way through his large frame. He was gripping the fitted sheet so hard his knuckles ached, his jaw locked tight as he stared blindly up at the dark ceiling, trying and failing to remember how to breathe.

Then she settled between his legs, and Cameron felt his last thread of control snap.
When her warm breath fanned over him, followed by the wet, deliberate swirl of her tongue against the ultra-sensitive tip, his hips jerked off the mattress completely of their own accord. A guttural, animalistic sound ripped out of his chest. "Jesus, Lucy," he gasped, his head thrashing back against the pillows.

But she was merciless. When she finally opened her mouth and took him in, swallowing him in that tight, crushing, impossibly hot velvet grip, Cameron felt the world drop out from under him. He was a big guy, used to taking hits and pushing his body to the limit, but the sheer, devastating force of her mouth and hand working in perfect, frictionless tandem reduced him to absolutely nothing.

He couldn't think. He could only feel. He felt the maddening slide of her lips, the tight, rhythmic stroke of her hand at his base, and the agonizingly gentle kneading of her fingers lower down. It was a sensory overload so profound he felt like he was burning alive from the inside out. He blindly reached down, his large, shaking hands wanting to tangle in her hair, wanting to touch her, to pull her closer, to do *anything* to ground himself.

Instead, her smaller hand found his.

The moment she threaded her fingers through his and pinned their joined hands to the mattress, Cameron’s heart completely broke open. The contrast of it—the raw, filthy intensity of what she was doing to him combined with the sweet, romantic intimacy of holding his hand—was the most profoundly beautiful thing he had ever experienced. It wasn't just physical anymore; it was her claiming him, body and soul.

He squeezed her hand back with a desperate, crushing strength, his heavy fingers locking her to him. "Luce," he choked out, his voice a wrecked, sobbing rasp that echoed in the quiet room. "Sweetheart, I'm—"

He was falling, the edge rushing up to meet him faster than he could stop it. Every time she squeezed his hand and pulled him deeper, another tremor violently shook his broad frame. He stared down the length of his own body, his chest heaving with ragged, desperate breaths in the silver moonlight, watching her blonde hair spill over his thighs as she absolutely destroyed him.

"Don't stop," he begged blindly, his hips bucking up to meet her rhythm, his restraint entirely obliterated. He was completely out of his mind, completely at her mercy, and he never wanted to be anywhere else. "God, Luce, please, I'm right there—I'm yours, I'm yours—"

The raw, desperate sound of Cameron’s voice—wrecked and pleading—was the only fuel Lucy needed. She felt the way his large frame shuddered, the violent tremors of a man who had reached his absolute limit, and she leaned into it with a fierce, possessive hunger. As he bucked against her, his hips seeking more, Lucy didn't slow down. Instead, she picked up the pace, her hand and mouth working in a frantic, rhythmic blur that drove him over the precipice.

When he finally snapped, his body arching off the bed in a silent, soul-deep release, Lucy didn't pull away. She tightened her grip on his hand, feeling the crushing strength of his fingers as he found his peak. As he came, she felt the hot, heavy pulse of him deep in her throat. She gagged slightly, her eyes watering at the sheer intensity of it, but she didn't recoil. She stayed right there, swallowing every bit of him, claiming the very essence of the man who had just declared himself hers.

The room was silent save for Cameron’s harsh, sobbing breaths. Lucy took a moment, her tongue darting out to lick the final, stray droplets from the sensitive tip of him, ensuring she tasted every bit of the power she’d just dismantled.

Slowly, she crawled up his body, her knees sinking into the soft mattress on either side of his legs. She felt the heat radiating off his skin like a furnace. When she reached the pillows, she collapsed into his side, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder and draping one arm across his broad, heaving chest. The scent of them—salt, skin, and intimacy—wrapped around her like a blanket.

She waited until his heart rate began to settle, though she could still feel the residual tremors running through his muscles. Lucy shifted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the sweat-damp skin of his neck.

"Cam?" she whispered, her voice a low, tired rasp that carried a hint of her old shyness. She felt him stir, his arm coming around to pull her impossibly closer. She smiled against his skin, her cheeks flushing a deep rose in the moonlight. "I should probably admit... if it wasn't for those two glasses of wine at dinner, I probably wouldn't have had the courage to do any of that."

Lucy felt his chest rumble beneath her ear—a deep, grounding vibration that signaled he was finally coming back to earth. She breathed in the scent of him, feeling a sudden, overwhelming wave of affection that pushed past the lingering buzz of the wine.

"But I'm glad I did," she murmured, her voice gaining a tiny bit of that new, fierce edge. "I'm so glad. I wouldn't change a single thing about tonight, Cam. Not a single second."

She shifted slightly, her hair spilling across his bicep like silk. The vulnerability in his voice earlier had done something to her, cracking open a part of her heart she usually kept guarded. "And... you can keep calling me that," she admitted, her voice dropping to a shy, velvet breath. "I didn't want you to stop. I don't think I ever want you to stop calling me sweetheart."

Her fingertips began a slow, idle dance across his skin, tracing the heavy muscle of his pectorals. The heat radiating off him was incredible, a testament to the way she had just worked his body into a fever pitch. She couldn't seem to keep her hands still; it was as if she needed to map out every inch of the man she had just claimed.

Her flat palm slid lower, the friction of her skin against his causing his abdominal muscles to jump and twitch in a reflexive, post-orgasmic shiver. She traced the hard ridges of his abs, her touch deliberate and adoring, before her hand drifted further down. She let her palm rest over his pelvis, her fingers brushing against the coarse hair there, feeling the heavy, steady thrum of his pulse beneath his skin. She looked up at him through her lashes, a playful, soft smile tugging at her lips as she felt him react to her touch all over again.

Cameron felt like he had been completely unmade and put back together in the span of ten minutes. His brain was entirely offline, floating in a heavy, golden haze of absolute ruin. The memory of her mouth, the tight, slick friction, and the staggering reality of her swallowing his release had permanently rewired his nervous system. He was a large guy, heavily muscled and built for endurance, but as Lucy collapsed against his side, Cameron felt bone-deep exhaustion in the best possible way.

He wrapped his thick arm around her automatically, his massive hand splaying wide over her bare back to pull her flush against his side. He pressed his face into the soft, blonde silk of her hair, his chest still heaving in ragged, uneven stutters. He couldn't speak. He wasn't sure he remembered how to form words. He just held her, letting the rapid thud of his own heart slow down against the warm, grounding weight of her body.

When she whispered her confession about the wine, a low, exhausted chuckle rumbled deep in Cameron’s chest, vibrating against her cheek. He turned his head, pressing his lips to the crown of her head, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her.

"I don't care if it was the wine, the moon, or a dare," he rasped, his voice a gravelly, wrecked whisper that still hadn't fully recovered its strength. "I'm just glad you let me in, Luce. I wouldn't trade the last twenty minutes for anything in the world."

Then she asked him to keep calling her that word. *Sweetheart.* Cameron’s heart did a violent, painful flip in his chest. Six years ago, it had been a casual term of endearment, something he threw around easily. Now, hearing her ask for it—hearing the shy, vulnerable breath in her voice—it felt like a sacred title she was handing back to him. He shifted his weight, turning slightly onto his side so he could wrap his other arm around her, caging her securely against his chest.

"I don't think I could stop if I tried, sweetheart," he murmured fiercely against her hairline, the word tasting like a vow on his tongue. "It's yours. It always was."

He was perfectly content to just hold her for the rest of the night, to soak in the sheer miracle of being back in her bed. But the moment her flat palm began its slow, deliberate glide down his stomach, Cameron’s body betrayed him instantly.

His breath caught sharply, his abdominal muscles cording and jumping under the warm friction of her skin. He had literally just experienced the most earth-shattering climax of his entire life, but the second her fingers brushed the coarse hair just above his pelvis, a fresh spark of heavy, throbbing heat flared to life between his legs. His body was so hyper-attuned to her, so deeply, permanently addicted to her touch, that he was already starting to stir under her hand.

He opened his eyes, looking down through the dim silver light to see her watching him through her lashes, that soft, playful smile curving her lips. It was a look that perfectly balanced the dry, witty girl he remembered with the confident, devastating woman she had become.

Cameron let out a ragged sigh, letting his head fall back against the pillows. He reached down, his large, heavy hand covering hers where it rested over his pelvis. He didn't move it away; he simply pressed her palm firmer against his skin, lacing his thick fingers through hers to anchor her there.

"You're going to actually kill me, Corbett," he breathed out, a helpless, boyish smile breaking across his own face. He turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes entirely soft, stripped of any arrogance and filled only with a raw, terrifyingly honest adoration. "You realize I have absolutely zero defense against you, right? You look at me like that, you touch me, and I'm ready to go again. I'm completely at your mercy."

He shifted his hips just a fraction, a slow, deliberate roll that pressed the returning weight of his arousal against the back of her hand, letting her feel exactly how much truth was in his words. "So, whatever you want to do with me, sweetheart... I'm yours."

Lucy felt a sudden, fierce rush of warmth bloom in her chest at the raw honesty in his voice. The absolute surrender in his dark eyes—stripped of all that guarded, confident armor he usually wore around the rest of the world—made her breath hitch. He was so big, so overwhelmingly powerful, yet here he was, completely pliant beneath her fingertips, openly admitting that he was entirely at her mercy.

When he rolled his hips, deliberately pressing that undeniable, heavy heat against the back of her hand to prove his point, a soft, vibrating chuckle spilled from her lips. She couldn't help it. The sheer, overwhelming reality of him yielding to her like this was intoxicating. Unable to bear the beautiful, heavy intensity of his adoring stare for another second, she shifted forward and buried her burning face deep into the solid, warm expanse of his chest.

She loved the way his racing heart still thumped against her cheek, loved the familiar, grounding scent of his skin mixed with the heavy, golden aftermath of what they'd just shared. She didn't try to pull her hand away from where his thick fingers anchored hers against his pelvis. Instead, she let her fingertips curl just slightly, a gentle, soothing stroke against his taut skin.

"I'm just showing you affection," she whispered, her voice soft and muffled against his pectoral muscle, her breath fanning hot across his skin. She pressed a tender, lingering kiss just over his heart, a lazy smile curving her lips against his chest. "Aftercare."

She let one bare shoulder lift in a small, lazy shrug, the movement brushing soft against the heavy arm he had caged around her. She could feel the steady, rapid thud of his heart beneath her lips, the subtle, involuntary twitch of his abdominal muscles under her captive hand as she spoke.

"And," she murmured, her voice dropping into a lower, huskier register that vibrated directly against his warm skin. She shifted her hand just a fraction beneath his, her fingertips idly mapping the coarse hair and taut muscle there. She turned her head, resting her cheek against his chest so she could look up at him through her lashes, that same playful, devastating smile playing on her lips.

"If that affection happens to turn into something more..." She let the sentence hang in the quiet air of the bedroom for a second, her gaze dropping briefly to his chest before meeting those dark, hopelessly devoted eyes of his once again. "Well. So be it."

Cameron felt the sudden, shy shift in her demeanor, and his heart practically melted into his ribs. The fierce, demanding woman who had just brought him to his absolute knees was suddenly blushing, burying her face against his pecs like she hadn’t just completely rearranged his entire universe. The contrast was so beautiful, so uniquely *Lucy*, that it physically ached.

He didn't let her pull her hand away. Instead, he kept his thick fingers laced tightly through hers, trapping her palm against the tight, sensitive skin of his lower stomach. When she mumbled the word *aftercare* against his skin, a deep, chest-shaking laugh rumbled out of him, the sound vibrating straight through the mattress.

"Aftercare," he repeated, the word escaping as a gravelly, deeply amused whisper. He turned his head, pressing a long, warm kiss to the crown of her blonde hair. "Right. Of course. That's definitely what this feels like."

But the teasing amusement in his chest vanished the second she dropped her voice into that low, husky register. When she shifted her fingers, just a fraction of a movement against the coarse hair and taut muscle of his pelvis, a violent shiver wrecked its way through his massive frame. He stared down at her as she looked up through her lashes, that devastating, playful smile curving her lips, and Cameron felt his pulse spike all over again.

*So be it.*

With a rough, ragged exhale, Cameron shifted his weight. He rolled slightly toward her, his heavy arm wrapping tighter around her waist to properly cage her against his side. The movement deliberately pressed the rigid, pulsing length of his arousal fully flush against the back of her trapped hand, making absolutely sure she knew exactly what her brand of "aftercare" was doing to him. He was burning up, completely out of his mind with wanting her, and he had absolutely no intention of hiding it.

"If that's how it's gonna be," he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, thick and heavy with renewed need.

He moved his free hand from her back, bringing it up to gently cup her jaw. His large, calloused fingers were incredibly gentle as he tilted her head up just enough so he could properly see those beautiful, mischievous eyes in the silver moonlight. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, his gaze dropping to her mouth with a dark, starving intensity before snapping back up to hold her stare.

"Then I guess I don't need those five minutes to recoup after all," he whispered fiercely, his breath mingling with hers. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers, his broad shoulders shielding her from the rest of the world. "Just say the word, Luce. You want to see if six years changed anything? I will gladly spend the rest of the night proving exactly how much stamina I've got."

The playful spark in Lucy’s eyes suddenly flickered out, entirely snuffed by a cold, sharp spike of panic. The heavy, pulsing reality of his arousal pressed against the back of her hand, combined with the dark, starving promise in his raspy voice, made the air in the room suddenly feel very thin.

She loved the beautiful, golden bubble of intimacy they had just built. But the sheer, monumental weight of what he was offering—of taking this all the way, of actually having sex for the first time in six years—pressed down on her chest like a physical weight.

Unable to hold the blinding, raw intensity of his stare for another second, she dropped her gaze. She stared down at the broad, solid expanse of his chest, her heart giving a nervous, erratic flutter that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with fear. Her hand, still trapped beneath his against his lower stomach, went completely rigid.

In the quiet span of a single heartbeat, her mind began to race, spiraling into a quiet, breathless panic. He's going to be so mad, a tiny, terrified voice whispered in her head. Her brain drifted off, vividly picturing the soft, devastating adoration in his dark eyes instantly hardening into frustration. She imagined him letting go of her jaw, the warm, grounding weight of his heavy body pulling away as he sat up, grabbed his clothes, and walked out the door because she had brought him right to the edge and was now abruptly drawing a hard line.

"Cam," she started, her voice dropping to a frail, trembling whisper. She didn't dare look up at him, terrified of seeing that terrible shift in his expression, terrified that this boundary was going to change the way he saw everything they had just done. She gently turned her face into the large, calloused hand still cupping her jaw, instinctively seeking the comfort of his palm before she ruined it all.

"I..." She swallowed hard, her throat feeling painfully tight. "I want to wait."

She rushed the words out before she could lose her nerve, her breath hitching against his warm skin. "Before we do anything else. I just... I know where this is going, and I know it's going to lead to us having sex, and I..." She squeezed her eyes shut, a small, involuntary shiver wracking her smaller frame. "I don't want us to have sex right now. I really want to wait."

She braced herself, waiting for him to pull his hand away, her chest aching with the sudden, overwhelming fear that she had just ruined the most perfect twenty minutes of her life.

"I'm sorry," she added quickly, her voice barely audible and laced with genuine, barely-contained panic. "Please don't be mad. I just want to stop here for tonight. Please don't leave."

The silence stretched for a fraction of a second, and the quiet was so heavy it made Lucy’s heart race faster. Desperate to fill the space, to offer him something—anything—so he wouldn't feel rejected and pull away, she kept talking, her words tumbling out in a soft, rushed stream against his chest.

"We could... we could watch a movie," she rambled quietly, her thumb anxiously stroking the edge of the large hand that was still gently cupping her jaw. "Or play a board game. I have a really terrible deck of cards in the living room. Or..."

She swallowed the tight, nervous lump in her throat, her voice dropping down to a fragile whisper. "We could just talk."

She let out a small, unsteady breath, a tiny, self-conscious shrug lifting her bare shoulder against the heavy weight of his arm. Slowly, she forced herself to open her eyes, peering up at him through her lashes with a tentative, hopeful vulnerability. She searched his shadowed face, bracing herself for disappointment but praying for understanding.

"Anything, really," she murmured, her features softening as she looked at him, the panic slowly giving way to a deep, genuine ache just to be near him. "We do have six years to catch up on."