She had gone to him with an intention.
To feel like a woman. For once. For now.
If she was granted one single wish, with him forever.
A breath shared.
His fingertips on her skin.
Hardly any air left between them and even less in her lungs.
Fast and firm for she longed to feel him so deeply.
It was rougher than she had meant it to then.
“I’m sorry”, she breathed.
His fingers stroked stray strands behind her ear and she could not bear looking him in the eyes anymore.
So insecure she still was with this. The one thing she had never known still did not cease challenging her.
Her ear on his chest then as she concentrated on his heartbeat.
He was still there, after all.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, his scent and hers entangled.
With a shaky exhale, she voiced the thought that haunted her ever since she had come undone beneath his touch.
“I should be better at this.”
His hand on her shoulder then, enveloping her as she him.
“There is no comparison. Nobody has had your life.”
Knowing he was right didn’t make it easier to accept it.
“And still”, she replied.
“Still it’s you I love”, he cut through her dire self-reproach and kissed her, not on the mouth, not tenderly, but on her neck and down to her collarbone, with roughness and caution in equal measure.
She leaned back only reluctantly, unwilling to allow herself any more enjoyment than she thought herself deserving of.
His weight felt too good on her and it was so much easier this time.
“I have”, she began again in a hoarse voice hardly above a whisper, before she could lose herself in him and miss another opportunity to tell him, “never known what it is like to not be scared.”
His eyes seemed to glow in the dim, warm light of the single candle and some thin laces of moonlight sweeping into the room like she into him and the faint shimmer leaned onto them as he onto her.
The question in his gaze was as palpable as though he had voiced it.
“Yes”, she breathed, searching his eyes to ease his own worry this time.
“Now I do.”