“No,” I say, stroking the brown skin on his ring finger. “I think it’s the exact opposite of that.”
He pulls me into his arms again, and I hold onto him, feeling the damp cool of his skin above the delicious heat of his body underneath. He’s wrong about not being good for me. This is exactly what I need. Someone who makes me want to be better, to get better. Someone who challenges me and puts me in my place. Someone who makes me feel scary things and still want to go on, for him and for me, too. I deserve to feel good. I deserve to enjoy my own body. I deserve the same pleasure other people feel when touched.
I’ve tried for so long to push those feelings down, to shut off the sensations of my body. But now I’m mad. I’m mad that the chance to feel uncomplicated pleasure was taken from me. Yes, I want to give myself to King, but more than that, I want it for myself. It’s not fair that the most basic, simple pleasures fill me with terror. I’m ready to change that.
I twist around in King’s arms, throwing my leg over him and straddling his hips so he has to brace himself to stay sitting, his palms flat on the mattress and his legs extended along the side of the bed where he sleeps. He looks up at me, his expression guarded, but I don’t hesitate. I take his face between my hands and kiss him hard. He reacts, but his kiss is tentative, careful. He keeps his hands on the bed instead of touching me. But I touch him. I run my hands over the hard, knotted muscles of his shoulders, the scar left from the bullet wound, and down the lean, taut muscles of his biceps, his forearms, and onto his sides. His skin is hot and damp, and his body shivers against my cool hands as they run over his skin.
I delight in the sensation of his body responding to my inexperienced touch, the little shiver that goes through him, the hardness growing in his lap as I press against him. A shiver goes through me, too, half fear and half arousal. He’s pressed up against me, but through a towel and my jeans, it’s not too much.
It’s not enough.
I slide my hand down over his abs, still running with a few little drops from the shower. When I reach the knot in his towel, King grabs my hand, breaking the kiss.
“I can’t,” he says, gripping my thighs and scooting me back on his lap. He’s breathing hard, but he looks miserable. “I want to be respectful, but I can’t help myself. You turn me on so fucking much, Eliza.”
“I know,” I say, linking my fingers through his and leaning forward to kiss him through the smile on my lips. “I love it.”
“You do?”
“I’m not scared of you, King.”
“You should be,” he says. “You drive me out of my fucking mind.”
He turns sideways, cradling my body and sliding me off him, then adjusting the pillows so we’re lying face to face. He runs a hand up the side of my thigh from my knee to my hip, his thumb pressing into the crease in my jeans at the top of my thigh. Nervous excitement vibrates through my body.
I reach for the knot on the towel again. “Can I touch you?”
He nods slowly. “How does this work? You can please me, but I can’t even touch you?”
“You can try,” I say, my voice sounding so stupid and scared I want to bite my tongue and take it back.
“What if... ?” He breaks off, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I freak out again?” I ask. “I might. I’m sorry. But I want to try. That’s something, right? And hey, maybe it’s a good thing. You won’t have to wonder if I want to or not.”
He scoffs quietly and adjusts his head, folding his arm under it. “You can say that again.”
Suddenly, I’m so nervous my fingers are shaking again, and I want to call the whole thing off. “Is that okay?” I whisper. “You said you wanted me home, but if you don’t anymore…”
He tips my chin up gently, his troubled gaze meeting mine. “I want you to trust me again. Anything you need.”
I nod, dropping my gaze. “You said we could work through it together,” I whisper, laying a hand on his hip, on the damp towel still wrapped around him.
“And you said you didn’t want to,” he reminds me.
“Now I do,” I admit, searching his eyes, begging him for understanding.
“What changed your mind?”
“You did,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “When you said that I don’t deserve you. You’re right, but not in the way you meant. You’re so good to me, and I want to be good for you, too. It takes a lot for me to trust, but I want to trust you, and I want you to trust me. I want to know you, King. And I want you to know me—all of me.”
“I want that, too,” he says quietly. “So much.”
“And… Maybe because you said it was okay if I didn’t want to, and you’ve held up your end of that. You’ve been patient, and I want to show you how much I appreciate that. I don’t want to live my whole life controlled by something that happened to me when I had no choice. Moving past it is my choice.”
“That’s… Really fucking brave,” he says quietly, sliding a hand over the side of my neck, cradling the back of my head in his big hand.
“Will you help me?” I ask. “Please?”