"We'll take it slow. I'll wait for you," he says with so much conviction in his voice. And to stun me further, he brings both my hands to his lips, kissing my fingers before moving to the inside of my wrists, laying chaste kisses all over the tender skin.
I don't react—I can't react.
The touch is feather-like, but it's enough to trigger my soul-deep loneliness, and the fact that no one's touched me with such gentleness in a long time—maybe forever.
"I am aware of your trauma, and the fact that it might take time until you get more comfortable with me. But I'll wait. Just say yes," he breathes, the warm air brushing against my skin and making me tremble.
His gaze is arresting as he sets it on me, and a low tremor goes through my body.
I may not have been around many men, but even then I can recognize that the things he makes me feel are not ordinary.
For so long I've been stuck in the persona relegated by my family—the defective, crazy one. But with him, I don't feel like that, evidence being all the times I've behaved outside of my comfort zone with him.
I've shown him parts of myself that no one has seen until now, and that makes me question my own judgment.