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Too many layers between us. I want his skin on mine. I pull my hoodie and T-shirt off in one go.

“This … is … not … slow.” The words come out between shuddered breaths as his gaze traces the curves of my breasts.

“I don’t want slow. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to hold back.” I have never been more turned on in my life.

“You sure?” His hands shake on my waist.

“I am.” This moment is mine. This moment is for me. Just me. Not an escape. Not an eraser of the past. This is me choosing myself.

His gaze searches my face. “You can stop me. Say the word, and we’ll stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” I kick my shoes off. I need everything off of me.

“But if you change your mind, remember. You lead, I follow.”

I unbutton my jeans, push them down my legs, socks and all. I stand in front of him in plain blue cotton panties and my bra. “This is me leading. Now take me to your bed.” I don’t know where this sudden confidence came from. But the certainty that this is the right choice, that he is the right person, vibrates with every fiber of my being. I have never been surer of anything else in my life. “Make love to me, Dylan.”Please.

He takes my hands and walks backward into the bedroom. He pulls the covers back. Crisp, white sheets frame his figure. His gaze never leaves my face. He sits on the bed, pulls me between his legs, his forehead rests on my stomach. I run my fingers through his hair, soft, unruly, still damp from the rain. He brushes his lips on my stomach and hips with a thousand light-as-air kisses. His hands trace the outside of my thighs, the back of my knees, my lower back with such a tenderness it’s almost unbearable. No one has ever touched me this way. With so much care and … love? Is this what a loving, unselfish touch feels like?

Dylan stands, frames my face with his hands, kisses me and kisses me and kisses me until all the breath has left my lungs, and I’m drowning in desire and lust for more. So much more.

“More, Dylan. More. Touch me.”

His hands go to my back, he unclips my bra. I let it fall to the floor. Still not enough. I remove the last barrier—my panties join the bra on the floor.

His gaze slowly drifts down to my chest, stomach, and lower. He sucks in a breath. “Beautiful.”

He picks me up and lays me on the bed. The sheets are cool against my hot skin. He stands still for a moment, then tugs the rest of his wet clothing down muscular legs. He’s naked now. Miles of tanned skin and lean muscles. I can’t take my eyes away from him. His damp skin ripples with shivers. He reaches for a small remote control on the night table, and a moment later, orange and blue flames come to life in the gas fireplace across from the bed. His fingers touch my calf and trace up my leg as he climbs onto the bed and settles next to me. The temperature in the room is warmer now. If by the fireplace or his proximity, I can’t tell. He braces himself on an elbow, a leg propped over mine.

“Can I touch you?”

No one ever asked me this before. “Yes.”

He explores my body, tracing the curves, the rises, the valleys of my geography. Like a cartographer, he maps my entire body, leaving nothing untouched by hands or lips.

My body comes to life under the expert and gentle attention of his lips and tongue. My body is no longer my own, and yet I’m overcome with belonging. A riptide of sensation churns inside me until it explodes in wave after wave of the most exquisite release. I’m spent, sated, and relaxed. When I open my eyes, I find him looking at me, a satisfied smile on his lips. I trace the tiny lines around his eyes, and they spell happiness.

I ache to touch him back, to be the explorer myself. I push up with a hand on his chest. “My turn.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Need to.

His skin is hot under my touch, firm. He’s all muscle and hard edges. He holds back for a while, letting me do as I wish, but then his control snaps and his hands and mouth are back on me. We battle not for dominance but for surrender, for who gives the most to the other. I can wait no longer. “Now, Dylan. Now.” I need to feel him, all of him.

He palms my cheek, pushing the hair away from my face and making sure my gaze is on him. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He reaches for protection on the night table, rolls it on himself, then hovers over me. I pull him down, his body into mine, wrapping my legs around his calves and urging him on. And when he complies, a part of me breaks away like the shedding of a skin that no longer fits. We move together in perfect synchrony, as if this was not the first time but a returning home.

At the end we lie next to each other in quiet contentment, his arm across my middle, a hand on my waist, his body molded against my side, my head tucked under his chin.

I would never have guessed that giving in and trusting someone with more than my body was the key to erasing hurts from the past and gaining a part of myself back.

With everyone before Dylan, I never felt this way—safe, and dare I say, in peace?

I don’t want to move or even open my eyes. What if I do, and it’s all an illusion, and I go back to being less?