Page 17 of The Equation of Us

Unexpected Depth

Dean

I didn’t plan to tell her any of that.

The admission about her seeing too much—about how that terrifies and thrills me—wasn’t part of the script I had for tonight. But watching her come undone beneath my mouth, seeing the complete surrender in her eyes when she finally let go… something cracked open inside me.

Now she’s looking at me with those analytical eyes again, but softer somehow. Like she’s recalibrating, processing what I’ve just revealed.

“I want to touch you,” she says, her voice still slightly breathless. “Will you let me?”

The request surprises me. Usually, I direct everything. Set the pace, give the orders, maintain control. Her taking initiative feels like another boundary shifting.

“Yes,” I say, the word rougher than I intended.

She moves with deliberate grace, pushing me onto my back and straddling my thighs. The black lace bra is still in place, a stark contrast against her pale skin. Her hair falls around her face in loose waves, slightly messy from my hands and her movements against the pillow. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” she observes, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt.

I let her undress me, watching her face as she concentrates on each button. There’s something intensely intimate about her methodical approach, the careful way she pushes the fabric aside to reveal my chest and shoulders.

When she bends to press her lips against my collarbone, I have to fight to keep still. Her mouth is warm, exploratory in a way it hasn’t been before. She’s taking her time, learning the terrain of my body like she’s mapping it for future reference.

“You’re always so controlled,” she murmurs against my skin. “Even now.”

“Not as much as you think,” I admit, my voice tight as her hands move to the waistband of my jeans.

She looks up, meeting my eyes as her fingers work at the button, then the zipper. “Show me,” she challenges softly. “Show me what it looks like when you’re not in control.”

The request hits me somewhere deep and vulnerable. Nora doesn’t just want my body—she wants to see behind the walls I’ve built, the careful restraint I maintain even in our most intimate moments.

I lift my hips, helping her pull my jeans and boxers down in one movement. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, fully hard and aching for her touch.

“You’re so responsive,” she says, echoing what I’ve told her before. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth—she knows exactly what she’s doing, turning my words back on me.

When her hand wraps around me, I can’t suppress the harsh exhale that escapes my lips. She watches my face as she strokes, experimental at first, then with more confidence as she gauges my reactions.

“Is this good?” she asks, her grip tightening slightly.

“Yes,” I manage, fighting to maintain some semblance of composure. “Faster.”

She complies, her rhythm increasing. “Like this?”

“God, yes.” My hips move involuntarily, seeking more of her touch.

I’m used to being the one giving pleasure, the one in charge of pace and intensity. Having her take control like this—watching me, learning what makes my breath catch—is unexpectedly arousing.

“Take off your bra,” I tell her, my voice rougher than intended.

She holds my gaze as she reaches behind her back, unhooking the clasp with practiced fingers. She lets the black lace slide slowly down her arms before tossing it aside.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, reaching up to cup her breasts, feeling their perfect weight in my hands. They’re warm and soft and surprisingly full for her slender frame. Her nipples harden under my touch, and I brush my thumbs across them, watching her breath catch. “So fucking perfect.”

She arches slightly into my hands, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she refocuses, determined to maintain her newfound control.

“I want to taste you,” she says suddenly, her voice low but determined.

Before I can respond, she’s moving down my body, settling between my legs. The first touch of her mouth against me tears a groan from deep in my chest. Her eyes flick up to mine, satisfaction evident in her gaze as she registers the impact she’s having.

“Nora,” I breathe, one hand moving to tangle in her hair.

She takes me deeper, her movements still somewhat tentative but enthusiastic. What she lacks in technique she makes up for in attention—watching my reactions, adjusting to what makes my grip tighten in her hair, what makes my breathing stutter.

“You taste good,” she murmurs against my skin, before taking me in her mouth again.

The words send a surge of heat through me. Hearing her echo the phrases I’ve used with her, seeing her take initiative—it’s doing things to me I didn’t anticipate.

I’m approaching the edge faster than expected, my control slipping with each movement of her mouth, each glance from those intelligent eyes.

“I’m close,” I warn her, tugging gently at her hair to give her the option to pull away.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she redoubles her efforts, her hand joining her mouth, working in tandem. The dual sensation pushes me right to the brink.

“Nora, I’m going to—”

She hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t stop. The vibration is the final push I need. Release hits me with unexpected intensity, my body tensing as pleasure washes through me in waves. Through it all, she stays with me, maintaining eye contact in a way that feels almost unbearably intimate.

When it’s over, she moves up to lie beside me, a satisfied smile playing at her lips. I pull her against me, needing her close while my heart rate gradually slows.

“Was that okay?” she asks after a moment, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

I laugh softly, the sound still slightly breathless. “More than okay.”

She props herself up on one elbow, studying my face. “You look different.”

“Different how?”

“Less guarded.” Her fingers trace the line of my jaw. “I like it.”

The observation makes something twist in my chest. She’s right—I feel less guarded with her than I have with anyone in a long time. Maybe ever. The realization should frighten me, but in this moment, with her warm body pressed against mine and her perceptive eyes seeing right through me, it feels right.

“I didn’t expect to tell you all that,” I admit. “About why I wanted this with you.”

“Why did you?”

I consider the question, trying to understand it myself. “Because you asked. And because… I think I wanted you to know.”

She smiles, a small, genuine expression that transforms her face. “I’m glad you told me.”

We lapse into comfortable silence, her head resting on my chest, my hand drawing lazy patterns on her bare back. The quiet intimacy of the moment feels new, different from the intense physical connection we usually share.

She stirs against me, glancing at the clock on my nightstand. “I should get going soon.”

“It’s late,” I say, my arm tightening slightly around her. “You could stay.”

She looks up at me, surprise evident in her expression. “I thought we said no sleepovers.”

“We did.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She’s quiet for a moment, and I can practically see her mind working, weighing options, considering implications. Finally, she says, “I should stick to the rules. At least for now.”

“Just rest for a bit then,” I suggest, not quite ready to let her go. “I’ll wake you in ten minutes.”

Something softens in her expression. “Okay. Ten minutes.”

As her breathing begins to even out, exhaustion clearly catching up with her, I find myself staring at the ceiling, thinking about how quickly this has evolved from a controlled physical arrangement into something that’s already…more.

I should be worried about the direction this is taking. About the boundaries we’re already crossing, the rules we’re breaking. About how much more I want from her than I initially admitted, even to myself.

But with Nora falling asleep against me, her body fitted perfectly to mine, all I can feel is a strange, unexpected sense of peace.

Whatever this is becoming, it feels too right to stop now.

Even if it breaks every rule we made.