CHAPTER 16 #2
He removes my trousers carefully, supporting my weight when I step free.
His own clothing follows, not with practiced seduction but with efficiency disrupted by the fact that I keep touching him.
Each time my fingers move over his skin, his control becomes less complete.
I like discovering the limits of it. He lays me back against the pillows and remains above me without lowering his full weight.
“Tell me if your knee hurts.”
“I will.”
“Your hand.”
“I will.”
“If anything feels wrong—”
“Nolan.”
He stops. I touch the line between his brows.
“You are planning every possible failure.”
“Yes.”
“Can you not?”
“No.”
The honesty makes me laugh softly. His expression becomes uncertain.
“You can begin by accepting that I may not break.”
His gaze travels down my body and returns.
“That has never been my concern.”
“What has?”
“That I will.”
The answer reaches me before I can protect myself from it. I pull him down. His mouth moves over mine, then lower along my neck and chest. When he reaches the clasp of my bra, he looks at me. I nod. He opens it. The cool air touches my skin first. Then his hands.
There is care, but not fragility. He listens when my breathing changes and learns the difference between tension and pleasure more quickly than I expect. When his mouth closes over one nipple, my hips lift before I can contain the response. Nolan looks up.
The sight of him there—the controlled man stripped of distance, his mouth against my body—undoes something in me.
“Again,” I say.
He does. The second time, his hand moves between my thighs. He touches me over my underwear first. Slowly. My body responds with an intensity that embarrasses me. I turn my face toward the pillow. Nolan stops.
“No.”
I look back at him.
“No what?”
“Do not hide from me.”
The words should feel controlling. The tone does not. It is almost a request.
“I am not hiding.”
“You looked away.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“Why?”
I almost make a joke. Nothing comes.
“Because you know.”
“I know you want me.”
“That is not a small thing.”
“No.”
He waits. The silence allows embarrassment to settle into something warmer. I look at his hand between my legs.
“Keep going.”
He removes the last barrier with care, then touches me directly. The first stroke draws a sound from me I do not recognize. Nolan’s expression changes. Not triumph. Attention.
He learns me through reaction, adjusting pressure, slowing when my body tightens, repeating what makes me lose the ability to arrange my thoughts. My left hand closes around his wrist. He stops. I shake my head.
“Don’t stop.”
His fingers move again. The release builds quickly enough to frighten me. I try to control it, to breathe through it quietly, and feel my body resisting the restraint. Nolan leans over me.
“Elise.”
I open my eyes.
“Let it happen.”
The sentence is simple. Not an order. Permission I did not know I wanted.
I come with his name caught somewhere between breath and sound, my left hand gripping his shoulder, my right held safely against my chest. For several seconds, I cannot hear anything but blood and the uneven rhythm of my breathing.
Nolan remains beside me. He does not speak.
When I look at him, his face is less controlled than I have ever seen it. Desire. Wonder. Something almost painful. I touch him. His body hardens further beneath my hand. He closes his eyes. The power of the reaction sends a new wave of heat through me.
“Protection?” I ask.
His eyes open.
“Yes.”
He reaches toward the nightstand and removes a condom. The ordinary competence of the action steadies me. He returns, but does not enter me.
“Still yes?”
“Yes.”
“Say it clearly.”
“I want you inside me.”
The words warm my face again. Nolan’s control nearly breaks. I see it. Then he guides himself against me and enters slowly. My body tightens. He stops.
“Pain?”
“Pressure.”
“Do you want me to move?”
I breathe through the fullness.
“Yes.”
The first movement is careful. The second less so. I wrap my left leg around him, keeping the bruised knee turned away. Nolan’s hand supports my hip. His forehead lowers to mine as the rhythm builds. I expected him to be silent. He is not.
My name leaves him low and rough when I pull him closer. A quiet curse when my body tightens around him. Broken breaths he does not have time to control. The sounds make him human. They also make me want more.
I move beneath him, changing the angle until pleasure sharpens. Nolan follows without taking over. When I use my hand to guide his, he lets me. There is no uncertainty in his strength. Only in what he allows himself to feel. I watch the moment he stops holding that back.
His rhythm deepens. His mouth finds mine.
The second release takes me slowly this time, gathering through every place he touches until my body opens around him and I cannot separate pleasure from the relief of being fully present inside it.
Nolan follows soon after, body rigid above me, face turned against my neck.
For a while, neither of us moves. His weight is carefully divided across his arms. Even now. I touch his back.
“You can lie down.”
“I’ll hurt your knee.”
“You won’t.”
He shifts beside me instead, keeping one hand at my waist. The room changes after sex.
People do not mention that enough. The air feels different.
Objects look more specific. The unopened book on the nightstand, his shirt on the floor, the dark line of his trousers near the chair.
Evidence that ordinary life continues despite what happened in the bed.
Nolan leaves briefly and returns with a warm cloth and water.
The bottle is already open. I look at it. He notices.
“I should have asked.”
“You were trying to be kind.”
“That has not excused me before.”
“No.”
I take the bottle anyway. He sits on the edge of the mattress, shoulders still tense.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t know what happens now.”
The admission surprises me.
“You build security systems for people facing credible threats.”
“Yes.”
“You founded a company.”
“Yes.”
“You do not know what happens after sex.”
“Not this sex.”
My pulse changes. I look toward the window.
“What makes it different?”
He does not answer immediately. I almost regret asking. Then he says, “You are my wife.” The word lands differently now. Not legal. Not strategic. Not enough to make this safe. I place the water on the nightstand.
“The contract did not make me your wife in this room.”
“I know.”
“I did.”
“Yes.”
His hand tightens once against the sheet. I turn toward him.
“I am still angry.”
“I know.”
“I still do not trust you with every truth.”
“You should not.”
“That is a terrible response.”
“It is accurate.”
I touch his shoulder.
“Tonight was not forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“But it was real.”
His eyes meet mine.
“Yes.”
I lie back. After a moment, Nolan lies beside me.
He does not ask whether I am staying.
I do.
Sometime before sleep, I feel his hand close around something near my waist.
In the morning, I find the emergency button in his fist.