Yes.
This?
Yes.
Me?
Always yes.
And when the rest of the room disappears around us, it doesn’t feel like giving something away.
It feels like choosing.
For the first time in my life, nobody else wrote the plan.
Not Dad.
Not Ryan.
Not basketball.
Me.
I chose the school.
The job.
The boy.
The future I still haven’t figured out.
And tonight, with Kane looking at me like I am not a prize he won or a tool he needs but simply Hannah—
I choose him too.
Kane’s mouth finds mine again, slower this time, like he’s tasting the decision instead of rushing it. His hands stay at my waist, patient, until I lift my arms. He peels the T-shirt over my head and tosses it aside. The air is cool against my skin, but his palms are warm as they slide up my back and unhook my bra.
He doesn’t hurry.
He looks at me.
Really looks.
Then his mouth is behind my ear, soft and open, breathing me in. Almonds and whatever shampoo I used this morning. He kisses the spot until I shiver, then trails lower—collarbone, the hollow of my throat, the center of my sternum. Every place his lips land feels claimed and cherished at the same time.
When he reaches my breasts he takes his time. One nipple, then the other, sucking gently, tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to make my back arch. My hands bury themselves in his hair. I hold him there because the alternative is floating away completely.
“Kane—”
“I’ve got you.”
He keeps going. Mouth across my ribs, the soft plane of my stomach, the dip of my belly button. By the time he reaches the waistband of my sleep shorts I’m already shaking. He looks up once, checking, and only when I nod does he ease them down my legs along with my underwear.
I’m bare.
He’s still in his pajama pants.
He settles between my thighs and presses a kiss to the inside of one knee, then higher. When his mouth finally finds my clit I make a sound I didn’t know I could make. He sucks gently, then harder, tongue working in slow, deliberate circles while two fingers slide inside me, stretching, preparing.