Chapter 3

He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wanted to.

Her breath hitched, but she didn't pull away.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly, closing her eyes as their lips met.

It was a soft, gentle kiss. No tongue. No pressure. Just the warmth of his mouth against hers, tentative and sweet. The kind of kiss that asked permission with every passing second.

The kiss lingered for a moment longer than necessary, but it wasn't demanding or hungry. It was simple. Almost chaste.

He pulled back slowly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

Seeing none, he leaned in again.

This time, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Then her cheek.

Then her jaw.

Then her neck.

Each kiss was slow. Deliberate. He was taking his time, treating her skin like it was fragile and precious. His lips left a trail of gentle pressure down her neck, making her shiver involuntarily. Her hands fisted the sheets unconsciously, trying to ground herself in the overwhelming sensations.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly against her skin.

His hands remained gentle and non-threatening, resting lightly on her waist instead of groping or squeezing. The lack of aggression was almost surreal. She realised—with a strange, quiet ache—that she'd never been asked for consent during intimacy before. Not like this. Not like it actually mattered.

"Y-yeah," she breathed. "Keep going."

He moved lower.

Her breathing hitched as his lips trailed lower still, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against her collarbone and then the sensitive skin of her chest. There was no rush. No roughness. Just deliberate, worshipful attention.

She trembled.

Her fingers loosened their grip on the sheets and tentatively rested on his shoulders.

This was entirely uncharted territory for her.

Not the physical act itself—she'd been intimate before. But this. The slowness. The gentleness. The patience. The way he kept checking in without breaking the mood, making sure she was still with him, still wanting this.

"You're doing so well," he murmured against her skin.

She inhaled sharply as he tugged at her bathrobe, exposing more of her skin. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as if he's unwrapping a fragile gift. The cool air against her newly exposed skin contrasts with the warmth of his lips as he continues kissing along her shoulder.

He slowly pushed the robe off her shoulders, pooling at her elbows. Baring her breasts completely. Before she could overthink it, his mouth wrapped around her already erect nipple, his tongue slowly sucking and laving over the sensitive peak in a way that made her arch slightly.

"Mnh—"

Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling gently instead of pushing or pulling. It surprised her—how natural it felt. How her body seemed to know what to do even when her mind was spinning.

His other hand cupped her remaining breast, thumb brushing softly across her nipple while his mouth worked the other. There was no urgency. No hunger. Just patience.

He wasn't rushing to finish her off or drain himself. He was savouring her like a meal. Like her pleasure was the destination, not a pit stop on the way to his own.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmured against her skin.

"It's… it's good," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

And it was.

More than good.

She could feel the tension in her body slowly melting away under his tender touches—the stress of the past month, the weight of sleepless nights, the constant gnawing anxiety about money and work and the future. All of it softening, loosening, dissolving under the warmth of his mouth and hands.

He pulled back just enough to release her nipple with a soft pop, his breath warm against her damp skin. Then he moved—kissing and sucking a slow trail along her chest before taking the other peak into his mouth.

She gasped softly, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He treated her breasts like they were precious. Like they were something to be enjoyed slowly rather than used roughly. There was no grabbing, no squeezing hard enough to bruise. Just reverence.

His hands slid upward along her sides, pushing her bathrobe further down to expose more of her torso. Every inch of skin he revealed, he followed with his lips—kissing, soothing, warming.

"You're so beautiful," he said, trailing his lips down her chest to her stomach, before working his way back up with his tongue with one long lick.

Her breath was caught in her throat, arching her back more and throwing her head back. She squeezed and rubbed her legs together, feeling the ache in her core.  She squirmed slightly as he reached for the sleeves of her robe, instinctively tensing. 

"Relax," he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating through her belly. "I got you." He slowly removed her robe instead of yanking it off her. She was now completely bare, except for her lace panties, in front of him, from top to bottom. She instinctively covered herself, feeling shy and self-conscious.

His eyes meet hers, soft and understanding. Without a word, he gently lifts her hands away from her body and kisses her fingertips before pinning her wrists on either side of her head.

"It's okay to be shy," he murmured against her skin. He settled himself between her legs, pressing a slow kiss to her inner thigh.

She gasped sharply, her body trembling slightly as he pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs. He took his agonising time, nipping and licking her sensitive skin, completely ignoring her centre. His hands gently rubbed circles around her thighs, grounding her. "Relax for me, sweetheart."

The pet name slipped out so naturally, so tenderly, that it makes her chest ache in a way she doesn't understand. She slowly let her legs fall further apart, lifting her head and propping herself against her elbows, her eyes lidded and her cheeks flushed.

Her core was throbbing, already wet with anticipation. But he was still taking his time, exploring and teasing every inch of her, and it was driving her mad. She found herself bucking her hips against his face, but he stopped her, pinning her in place.

"Uh, uh, uh, princess,” he said, his tone an octave lower. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her thighs, deliberately avoiding where she needed them most. “You gotta ask nicely.” 

"You really want me to spell it out?" she asked in a small voice, almost panting. “What if it’s embarrassing?”

"I won’t judge," he encourages, pressing a soft kiss to her hip. "You’re allowed to express your needs and wants however you want, sweetie."

She bit her lip, heart racing. "Touch me. Please."

"Where, sweetheart?”