the bedroom where Reed turned on the side lamp and tilted it toward the wall the same way he’d done that first night. He clicked off the overhead light and when he came back to her, he took her hand, leading her to the end of the bed. “Are you cold?” he asked.
She shook her head. She felt warm, overly so. Flushed and tingly. I trust you, she thought with wild wonder. I trust every part of myself with you. Liza felt something weighty inside slide off like a chain falling free. She felt slightly giddy and a little afraid, she wasn’t sure, but whatever this was, she’d never experienced it before. It felt new. She felt new.
“Can we . . . can we go slow?” she asked, not so much out of fear, but because he’d told her she could set the pace and she wanted it that way this first time. And she wanted to consider it just that—her first time—because she’d never really gotten one. It’d been viciously and violently stolen from her and she meant to reclaim it. Here. With Reed. Because he was right—monsters didn’t get the final say. She was going to make certain they didn’t.
He smiled at her, so beautiful that it left her breathless. “Anything you want,” he told her.
Reed took hold of the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it slowly, pulling it over her head and dropping it to the floor. For a moment he simply looked at her, his gaze moving over her naked skin and causing goosebumps in its wake. Funny that his gaze alone could do that. He hadn’t even touched her. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and brought his hand up and traced each breast, his finger moving slowly around her nipples, and then brought his hands to her waist, gliding them slowly down her skin, over her hips, and down her thighs. She felt electrified, waiting for his hands to move to another part of her body, the anticipation nearly making her groan. And she watched in awe as the simple sight of her body caused him to swell and harden, his body outlined in the thin material of his shorts. Her breath caught, coming faster.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, and his voice was low, gritty. She felt beautiful. Worshipped. She felt . . . clean. Pure, even. She was offering herself to the man in front of her, knowing that he looked at her and saw unmarred beauty. He was exploring her. Touching her with reverence as if he was in awe. And because of that, it felt like her first time. In every way that mattered, that’s exactly what it was.
“So are you,” she said. He smiled up at her, boyish, sweet, and her heart flipped once and then squeezed tightly.
“Do you know the very first thing I loved about you?” he asked.
Loved. The word electrified her, and yet brought a trill of fear close on its heels.
“My impeccable taste in men?” she asked breathlessly. Nervously. This was so . . . it was so new and so she used humor to deflect.
He laughed softly. “Well that, yes, obviously. But mostly it was the way you laughed. The way it lit up your whole face. The way it made me feel.”
Oh, Reed.
Her insides melted, that old part of herself that was still figuring out how to let go. He was helping her do that, every breath, every touch, every sweet word he uttered was a stitch she was using to adhere that badge of courage to her heart.
He pulled her forward as he scooted back and they lay next to each other on the bed as he continued to run his hands over her, his fingers trailing around the band of her underwear, down her hips, and then up the tender insides of her arms. Each time he got close to one of the places she needed him so desperately to touch, he moved away, teasing her until she was practically squirming with need. “Reed,” she breathed, and it sounded like a whine, so she laughed, taking his hand herself and bringing it to the damp material between her thighs.
He smiled, leaning in, and kissing her as he brought her underwear down and tossed them aside, not breaking from her mouth as he maneuvered his own shorts off. Warm skin met warm skin and they both sighed. He kissed the corner of her mouth, softly, gently, and though the