Page 182 of The Lies We Play

Only then does he press in another inch.

Slowly.

So fucking slowly, I feel every second of him entering me. The fullness is intense, bordering on too much, but his hand stays on my thigh and his eyes stay on mine, and there is something almost unbearable about the restraint. Halston could take. He never does. He makes me give.

Another inch.

My head falls back.

“Creed.”

“I’m okay.”

“Look at me.”

I do.

That is when it changes.

It stops being only heat. It becomes trust with teeth. Want with a pulse. The private truth of two men who have spent too long learning to survive, finally choosing contact without armor.

He pushes in the rest of the way.

I make a sound I don’t recognize.

Halston goes still, buried deep, arms tense, breathing hard through his nose. He looks wrecked. Not lost. Wrecked by the effort of not moving until I’m ready.

The power of that nearly breaks me.

I reach up and pull him down.

His mouth comes to mine, and I kiss him hard, not to rush him, not to hide, but because I need him to know I am here. I am with him. I'm not just letting this happen.

I chose it.

I chose him.

He groans into my mouth, and his hips move once.

Slow.

Deep.

My whole body opens around the feeling.

“Again,” I whisper.

His eyes burn into mine.

Then he does.

Halston moves once, slow and deep, and my body pulls him in with a startled, helpless tug that makes both of us stop breathing for half a second.

When he’s fully inside me, he freezes.

Not because he’s unsure. Not because he doesn’t want this. Because he wants it too much, and I can feel the fight in him. It’s in the tremor that runs through his arms, the rigid line of his shoulders, and the way his fingers curl into the sheet beside my hip instead of grabbing me the way I know he wants to. Halston is holding himself back with everything he has.

For me.