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He gently tips my chin up with his thumb, tilting my face so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “If you want me to stop, just tell me, Kammie.” His nose bumps mine, and I can taste the sharpness of his aftershave, the lingering bitterness of coffee on his tongue as his mouth meets mine.

I expect him to devour me, to take what he wants the way people in my mother’s house always did—though thankfully never in a way like this—but Adrien’s kiss is soft and cautious, and my mouth opens to him slowly, like I’m still deciding if I’m allowed to want this. His tongue traces my bottom lip, teasing a sound out of me I’ve never heard before, a low, needy whine.

He makes another sound in response—something deep in his chest, almost a growl—then pulls back just enough to look me in the face.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, brushing tears off my skin with his gloved hand.

“I’m not scared,” I say, though my voice is trembling.

“It’s okay if you are,” he says, and I believe him.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with my hands, so I let them hang awkwardly at my sides, but Adrien catches both and folds them against his chest, pinning my wrists between us.

“You can touch me, Kammie,” he says, nuzzling into my hair. “You can always touch me.”

I fumble for the edge of his shirt, curling my fingers into the fabric and tugging him closer. My knees are splayed over his thighs, the dampness of my skin making me hyper-aware of every point we touch.

“This is okay?” I ask, voice small. “Even after…”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, and when he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide. “I want to show you something,” he says, voice husky. He sets me gently aside on the closed toilet and stands.

I watch, mesmerized as he strips off his own shirt, baring a chest mapped with scars. Some are thin and white, like scratches; others are thick and puckered, violent reminders of what he’s survived. He kicks off his boots, then undoes his belt and shoves his pants and boxer briefs down in a single motion.

My eyes go wide. He is… huge.

I’m stunned speechless as he kneels down in front of me, completely naked, and looks at me like I’m something precious.

He puts his hands on my knees, spreading them gently. My dick is half hard and embarrassingly small by comparison, but he just hums in approval and strokes his thumbs over my thighs.

“Can I?” he asks, looking up. His eyes are even softer than his voice.

I don’t know what he’s asking, but I don’t think I’d ever turn him down. That is, until he leans in and licks a stripe up from my knee to the inside of my thigh, to the crease between my thigh and… other stuff.

“Wait!” I gasp out, hands flying to his head, trying to push him away. “That—that’s dirty!”

“No, sweetheart,” Adrien says, so gently I almost miss the heat under it. “Nothing from you could ever be dirty to me.”

I can’t let myself believe that.

“But I—” I start, voice rising in pitch as he noses at the inside of my thigh, his beard scratching, his lips impossibly soft.

He interrupts, nipping with just enough teeth to make my breath catch. “I would drink it from the source, Kammie. I’d lap up every single drop.” He punctuates the words with another slow lick, and I jerk, heat flooding my face and every inch of skin.

“That’s—” I try to wriggle, but he’s too strong, and my hands, which should be pushing him away, are instead buried in his hair, holding on for dear life. “Adrien—”

He laughs, the sound low and rumbling. “Call me what you know I want to hear,” he purrs, the instruction short-circuiting my brain. He slides his hands up, thumbs grazing the crease where my thigh meets hip. “You’re not disgusting,” he says, his voice thick with an emotion I can’t name. “You’re perfect. Perfect and mine, and I want all of you, even this.”

He fits his wide palm over my hip, squeezing until I squirm, then leans in to mouth at the skin just above my cock. He’s so close I can feel his breath, but he doesn’t go straight for it. He takes his time, kissing every inch of me except the parts that are throbbing with need.

I’m hard now, so hard it’s almost painful, and I know he’s doing it on purpose, making me wait. My stomach twists—part nerves, part anticipation. I don’t know how to ask for what I want, so I just whimper and hope he understands.

He does.

Adrien slides his hands up my sides, lifting me just enough to set me on his lap, skin to skin, so my butt is cradled in his hands, and my cock nudges against the hard line of his stomach.

He holds me, running one big hand up and down my spine, his other palm pressing between my shoulder blades until I lean forward, cheek pressed to his neck.

“You smell so fucking good,” he says, voice gone rough. “You’re perfect. You don’t believe me, but I’m going to make you.” He shifts me again, one hand sliding up to cup the side of my face, thumb stroking the line of my cheekbone. “I want you to let go,” he says. “I want you to let me take care of you, the way you’ve never let anyone. Will you let me?”