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Concern has replaced every trace of hunger in his expression, and I hate that he noticed.

“I’m fine,” I insist.

“Blair.”

“I said I’m fine,” I repeat, trying to convince both of us.

Dean takes a full step back.

He isn’t annoyed.

He isn’t frustrated.

He just gives me space.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

I stare at him, confused. I invited him inside, kissed his face off and then froze without giving him any explanation.

“You’re not…mad?” I ask.

His brows pull together. “Why the fuck would I be mad?”

I don’t answer.

Something in his expression shifts, becoming softer.

“We don’t have to do anything, baby,” Dean tells me. “You can ask me to leave. You can ask me to stay and still decide you don’t want this. Either way, we’re okay.”

“I know.”

“No.” His voice drops. “I need you to know.”

For the first time, stopping doesn’t feel like ruining something.

It feels like being allowed to choose.

I notice the space Dean has placed between us. His hands resting harmlessly at his sides. The hallway clear behind him.

He isn’t blocking me.

He isn’t expecting anything.

He’s simply waiting.

Letting me choose.

Something inside me loosens.

I reach for the front of his shirt and pull him toward me.

Dean’s brows lift, but his hands remain at his sides.

“Blair—”

“I needed a second,” I explain. “I didn’t say I wanted you to leave.”

“That’s not an answer.”