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I want to be wanted like this. Chosen like this.

His thumb brushes my cheek, softer than the rest of him, and the tenderness almost ruins me more than the heat.

There’s no space left between us now. Only his hands, my heartbeat, and the quiet, wild truth that I deserve this.

We deserve this.

My hands slide between us, shaking less from nerves now and more from need. I drag his zipper down slowly, savoring the way his breath catches. His forehead tips toward mine, his jaw clenched, his control fraying one inch at a time.

No one has ever handed me control like this. Not with patience. Not with trust. Not while looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing left in a dead world. I turn us, guiding him back until his shoulders meet the tree.

For once, Leon is the one braced there, breathless and waiting.

Power curls through me, hot and bright.

I slip my hand lower, touching him through the open denim, and his whole body reacts. His head tips back against the bark, throat working, a rough sound trapped behind his teeth. His eyes stay on mine as I stroke him, learning what makes him unravel. Every hitch of his breath, every tight pull of his jaw, every flex of his hands at his sides feeds something hungry inside me.

I like this.

I like watching him come undone.

I like knowing I’m the reason.

The thought sends heat rushing through me, bold and bright.

I lean up, my mouth brushing his ear. “I want to taste you, Leon.”

His chest rises hard.

“I want to show you how long I’ve wanted you.” I circle the tip with my thumb and massage the bead of come down his shaft.

The words hit somewhere deep. His eyes close. When they open again, they’re dark and full of a hunger that makes my knees feel weak.

He nods.

A smile tugs at my mouth. “But only if you stay still.”

I kiss him once, then trail my mouth lower, over the scar on his neck, the hard lines of his abs, the places where his breath stutters when I linger. His hands hover like he wants to touch me, stop me, pull me up, pull me closer.

But he doesn’t.

He waits.

Such a good listener.

I sink to my knees in front of him, the ground cold beneath me, the air colder against my skin. None of it matters. Not with the way he looks down at me, like he’s half undone already.

I ease closer, still stroking with one hand while the other settles against him. I take my time, letting myself enjoy the way his body tightens, the way his breath turns uneven above me.

“You’re so beautiful, Leon,” I whisper, looking up at him, licking from base to tip. “Do you know that?”

He shakes his head.

I hate that.

This man has spent years watching me, loving me, saving me, building me back up one note at a time, and somehow he still doesn’t see himself clearly.

Fine.