Page 145 of Lighting the Lamp
“Beau…” My voice is shaky, caught somewhere between plea and warning, though we both know I don’t mean the latter.
His hand slides to my side, curling around my hip and pulling me flush against him. The air between us snaps with tension and relief braided together so tightly they’re indistinguishable. I can feel all of it in the way he holds me and the way his breath stutters against my skin like he’s afraid to let me go. And then he stills, and I feel the absence of motion, his forehead resting against my shoulder, his breath hot and unsteady against my collarbone.
“God, I want you so bad I can’t think straight.” His fingers tighten, but they don’t roam. “But I don’t want this to be because we’re scared we almost lost it. I don’t want it to be rushed. Not with you.”
The ache in my chest blooms, sharp and sweet, because it’s not just desire in his voice, but care. It’s the choice to keep this from being an act of desperation, even when it’s the easiest thing in the world to fall into.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, sliding my hands down his arms until I’m holding his wrists, grounding him as much as he’s grounding me. “We have time.”
He lifts his head, and when our eyes meet, the look in his nearly undoes me. They’re shining with the weight of everything we’ve been through to get here. He kisses me again, deep and deliberate, like he’s not just claiming my mouth but the moment itself. When we break apart, our foreheads rest together, breathsragged and mingled. The ache of missing him is still there, but it’s softer now, buried under the promise in the way he’s holding me.
“Stay tonight,” he murmurs, not a question or command, but a space he’s asking me to fill.
“Yes.”
The relief that flashes across his face is almost dizzying as his hand finds mine, our fingers tangling, and he tugs me deeper into the condo without breaking the kiss entirely. We move as one, neither of us willing to let go long enough to reach the couch. My free hand stays hooked at the back of his neck, keeping him close, drinking in every warm exhale against my lips.
The living room glows in soft lamplight, shadows spilling across the hardwood, the low hum of the music filling the silence between our kisses. He backs me toward the couch, but we don’t fall onto it. We just stand there for a moment, chests pressed together, foreheads touching.
His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, a steady, grounding rhythm against my racing pulse. I slide my other hand down his chest, over the steady thump of his heart, until it rests at his hip. Even through his denim, I can feel the tension in him, the restraint wound tight under the surface.
“We have time,” I remind him softly, even though my body is screaming for more.
His lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile before he dips his head, brushing his mouth over mine again. We could tip over that edge right now, and we both know it. But for tonight, we stay balanced on it, drawing it out until the wanting becomes its own kind of bliss. The quiet between us feels safe, like we’ve carved out a pocket of time where nothing can touch us. Where we can exist in the space between wanting and having.
Beau shifts closer, slow and certain, his hand brushing mine like a question he already knows the answer to. The faint scent of cedar and soap wraps around me, familiar and grounding, while the warmth radiating from him makes the rest of the room fade away. The world seems to narrow to nothing but him, and I can feel every unspoken thing sitting heavy between us.
His chest rises under my touch, a faint hitch in his breath as I curl my hands into the fabric and lift. He lets me, arms raising, the cotton sliding over warm skin. When the shirt falls away, I see all of him. The ridges of muscle across his stomach, the wide planes of his chest, the faint scatter of freckles I’ve only traced in memory these past weeks. My gaze catches on the thin white scar beneath his ribs, the faintest shadow of a bruise high on his side, and something in my chest pulls tight.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, because I need him to hear it.
His throat works as he swallows, eyes softening in a way that feels like I’m peeling back a layer no one else gets to see. “You make me feel like I am.”
I trail my fingertips over his chest, feeling the solid thump of his heart under my palm. When my hands skim down his sides, his breath deepens, but his gaze never leaves mine. I press a kiss to his collarbone, then another just above his heart, and the sound he makes settles low and deep inside me.
“I love you,” he says, the words slow and unshakable as he cups my cheeks in his hands like I’m something fragile and precious.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting his words settle in the hollow places inside me, filling them until it almost hurts. When I open them again, he’s still there, letting me see all of him in a way he never has before.
“I love you, too,” I breathe, the words trembling but certain. “More than I know how to explain.”
We’re still standing, but the energy between us changes, charged understanding that this isn’t just about wanting each other. It’s about giving ourselves over completely, just us, bare in every way that matters.
I reach for the button of his jeans, my fingers brushing the warm skin just above the waistband. His breath hitches, eyes darkening, but they stay soft in a way that steals mine. He doesn’t rush me, just stands there, letting me move at my own pace, trusting me with every inch.
Every movement is deliberate. The soft slide of denim over his hips, the fabric whispering against his skin before pooling at his feet. The way my hands skim down his thighs, memorizing the shape of him as I trail my fingers back up with the same reverence. He shivers under my touch, and I feel it echo inside my body. A reminder that this unguarded, quiet reverence is something we’ve never done before. When I straighten, our breathing is heavier, the air between us thick. He cups the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that starts gently but deepens until I’m dizzy.
Beau’s hands find the hem of my sweatshirt, and he pauses, eyes locked on mine, and I nod. He pushes it upward slowly, the material brushing over my stomach and ribs, baring me inch by inch. The sweatshirt slides over my head and drops to the floor, leaving me in the thin cotton of my bra. His gaze lingers, warm and unhurried, before he hooks a finger beneath one strap and eases it down my shoulder, then the other, unclasping it with practiced care. The bra falls away, and he takes his time, palms skimming over my collarbones and down the swell of my breasts, tracing the lines of me as if he’s committing them to memory.
When he reaches for the waistband of my leggings, I feel his breath against my temple, working the fabric over my hips, his thumbs pressing lightly into my skin as he eases them down.They cling to my thighs before sliding past my knees, pooling at my ankles. He kneels briefly to free me from them completely. His hands smooth up my calves, over my knees, and higher, until I’m bare before him. By the time he straightens, his eyes have softened even more, but the unshakable heat is there, too, as he leans in for another deep, lingering kiss.
Only then does he take my hand, guiding me with him until we sink onto the couch, and his bare skin meets mine in a rush of heat that makes my stomach flip. The contact is everywhere, his hand curving around my waist like he’s anchoring me there.
“I’ve missed you every single day,” he murmurs.
“Then let’s not waste another one.”
Beau’s smile is small, almost shy, but there’s heat in his eyes now. I shift closer, knees brushing his, and the subtle catch in his breath tells me he feels the pull between us, too. His hand cups my cheek, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper. I melt into it, the slow drag of his mouth and the steady weight of his body pinning me in the now.
