Page 180 of The Lies We Play

He works me open with one finger until my body stops fighting him, then adds a second. My muscles clamp down, instinctive, and he stills immediately. His free hand rubs slow circles on my thigh until I let go by degrees.

The room feels warmer now. The curtains barely stir from the air-conditioning. Sweat gathers at my temples. My mouth is dry. I can hear every breath I take and every quiet sound he makes, every slick movement of his fingers, every shift of sheets beneath my hips.

“You’re doing so fucking good, babe,” he murmurs, almost like the words were dragged out of him. “So good for me. You’re opening up so beautifully.”

My whole body reacts before my pride can stop it.

Praise does things to me that I refuse to examine in daylight.

I turn my face into my arm, hiding the heat in my eyes.

Halston stops.

“Don’t.”

I laugh once, breathless and embarrassed. “Don’t what?”

“Disappear on me.”

I lower my arm.

He is looking at me like he knows exactly what I almost did. Like he saw me trying to leave the moment while staying in the bed. Like, he will follow me anywhere I retreat and drag me back by name.

“I’m here,” I say.

His thumb strokes my thigh once. “I know.”

He adds more lube.

Then a third finger.

The stretch is fuller, hotter, enough to make my back lift off the mattress. I hiss through my teeth, and Halston leans over me, kissing the sound from my mouth. He keeps his fingers still until I kiss him back. Until my body catches up with my want.

When he moves again, slow and deep, I shudder so hard he groans.

“Still good?” he asks against my mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth.”

“Creed.”

I open my eyes.

He is close enough that I can see the small line between his brows. Worry, not doubt. Care, disguised as control.

I touch his face.

“I want this,” I say. “Even if it takes us a while. Even if I shake through it all. I want you inside me, taking me apart slowly, as if you already know I’m still yours when I come undone.”

His eyes shut for one second.

Then he nods.

He keeps stretching me, adding more lube, more patience, more time than my pride wants to admit I need. When he works a fourth finger in, my hands fist in the sheet and a sound leaves me that doesn't belong in any arena, interview, or room with my last name on a contract.