Page 67 of The Grumpy Defenseman
“I am not fragile.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like I might break.”
His hand tightened at my hip.
“I’m not worried about you breaking.”
The room went very still.
Then I understood.
He was worried about himself.
The control. The man who had built an entire life around keeping every part of himself contained because contained things could not hurt anyone.
I touched his face.
“You are not going to hurt me.”
His eyes held mine.
“I know that in my head.”
“Good.” I kissed him once, slow enough that he felt every word I did not say. “Let the rest catch up.”
That did it.
Not all at once. Evan did not fall apart in one motion. He came undone the way he did everything else: with effort, with attention, with the last of his discipline spent on making sure I was with him at every step.
His hand slid up the inside of my thigh and stopped there, palm warm, thumb moving in one slow stroke that made my whole body tense.
“Sam.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“Yes.”
His fingers found me, and the sound that left me was not a word. He watched my face the entire time, face intent, breathing unsteady, his free hand braced on the desk beside my hip like he needed the wood to hold him in place. He learnedwhat made me move. He stayed there until my hands fisted in his hair. Then he stayed there longer.
“Evan.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I need—”
“I know.”
When he finally moved, it was with the same precision he used everywhere else, the same control, except the control was for me now and not against the want. He pressed his forehead to mine and let me feel him slow.
“Look at me.”
I did.
“Still yes?”
