Page 8 of One S'more Time

Something shifts inside me, a weight I've been carrying for so long I'd forgotten it was there. The constant pressure to be better, different, more. Nate isn't looking at me like I'm a project to be completed or a problem to be solved. He's looking at me like I'm a person he wants to understand—curls, curves, insecurities and all.

"I think I'd like that," I whisper, allowing myself to believe, just for this moment, that maybe—just maybe—I am enough exactly as I am. The thought is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

I stare at my ceiling, the afterglow still warming my skin. Two hours ago, I never would have imagined inviting Nate Campbell back to my place. Yet here I am, sheets tangled around my legs, my body still humming from his touch. The memory of his hands—those strong, capable firefighter hands—tracing every curve of me sends a delicious shiver down my spine. My apartment feels different now, like the walls themselves are holding their breath, preserving the echo of our whispered confessions and breathless laughter.

"I'd like to see where you live," he'd said as we left the restaurant, his voice low and gentle. "If that's okay." The words had hung between us in the warm night air, casual yet charged with possibility. I'd hesitated only a moment before nodding, my heart already racing at the thought of Nate Campbell coming home with me.

The drive home was electric, his hand occasionally brushing mine, each touch sending sparks through my fingers. Every red light became an opportunity for our eyes to meet, his warm gaze making my stomach flip in ways I'd never felt before. I caughthim smiling at me when I wasn't looking, that same half-grin that had been melting me all evening. By the time we reached my door, I was fumbling with my keys, hyperaware of his solid presence behind me, the heat of him just inches away. My usually cooperative lock seemed to conspire against me, and I could feel the gentle rhythm of his breathing, patient and steady, as I finally managed to slide the key home.

Inside, we barely made it to the couch. My back was against the wall before I even heard the door click shut behind us, his solid silhouette blocking out everything else in my field of vision. His kiss was nothing like I expected—not demanding or rushed, but deliberate. Like he wanted to memorize the shape of my mouth, the softness of my lips, the little sigh I couldn't hold back. His hands found my waist, steady and warm, thumbs tracing small circles that sent shivers racing up my spine. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of his neck, wondering how someone so strong could be so achingly gentle.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against my neck, his hands exploring the curve of my waist, fingers splaying wide as if trying to hold all of me at once. "I've been thinking about touching you since the moment I saw you covered in flour."

I laughed, then gasped as his mouth found the sensitive spot below my ear. "I was a disaster that day."

"You were perfect." His fingers slipped under my blouse, tracing patterns on my skin that made me shiver. "You're perfect now."

His touch was like fire, gentle but unmistakably potent. I arched into him, suddenly desperate for more contact, more of whatever this magic was between us. Nate's breathing grew heavier as his hands continued their reverent exploration, treating each curve and dip of my body like something precious.The confidence in his touch made me feel beautiful in a way no compliment ever had—like my softness was something to be treasured rather than hidden.

"I can't believe this is happening," I whispered, surprising myself with my honesty. My fingers traced the solid plane of his chest through his shirt, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm.

"Believe it," he said, voice rough with desire as he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. The intensity there made my knees weak. "I've waited too long already."

When he knelt between my legs, looking up with a question in his eyes, those firefighter's hands resting warm and steady on my thighs, I nodded, suddenly shy but desperately wanting. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at me with such hunger. He took his time, savoring me like one of my own desserts, his strong hands gripping my thighs with reverence, thumbs making gentle circles against my skin that sent shivers racing up my spine.

"God, Ellie," he breathed against me, his eyes dark with desire, the intensity of his gaze making me feel simultaneously exposed and cherished. "You taste amazing." His voice was rough, almost reverential, and I felt beautiful in a way I hadn't in years—maybe ever—as I tangled my fingers in his hair and surrendered to the sensation of being thoroughly, completely wanted.

I should have been embarrassed by how quickly I came apart under his mouth, my curls wild against the cushions, but there was something about the way he watched me—like my pleasure was the most fascinating thing he'd ever witnessed—that made me feel powerful instead of exposed, beautiful instead of vulnerable. My thighs trembled as waves of sensation crashedthrough me, my back arching involuntarily off the couch. The intensity of it stole my breath, left me gasping his name like a prayer. And through it all, Nate's eyes never left mine, dark with desire but also something deeper—a reverence that made my heart flutter as frantically as my pulse. For once, I didn't worry about how I looked or sounded or whether I was too much or somehow lacking. In that moment, I was exactly who I was meant to be, and the way Nate looked at me told me that was everything he wanted.

The way his tongue worked me as he slipped two fingers inside me made me arch up, pressing against his mouth as I whined in pleasure. His calloused fingers curled perfectly within me, finding that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I clutched at the cushions, at his shoulders, at anything I could reach, desperate for an anchor as waves of sensation threatened to sweep me away. When he hummed against me, the vibration sent shivers racing up my spine, and I couldn't stop the breathless, needy sounds escaping my throat. In that moment, I was completely his—undone and unraveling beneath his touch, and God help me, I never wanted it to stop.

"So beautiful," he repeated against me as I came, his voice rough with desire and something deeper that made my heart clench. My body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve ending alive with sensation as the pleasure crashed through me in relentless waves. I clutched the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his hair. When I finally caught my breath, the look of raw adoration in his eyes nearly undid me all over again.

Afterward, he held me close, kissing my forehead, his heartbeat strong against my cheek. The warmth of his body enveloped me, making me feel cherished in a way I hadn't experiencedbefore. His fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine, sending pleasant aftershocks through my still-sensitive skin.

"I should go," he whispered, though I could feel how much he wanted to stay, hard and ready against my hip. My body instinctively arched toward him, craving more despite the lingering tremors of pleasure. "I want to do this right." The restraint in his voice made my heart flutter—he wasn't running away, he was ensuring whatever this was between us had a chance to grow into something real.

"Stay," I murmured, surprising myself with my boldness as I traced my fingers along his jaw. But even as I said it, I understood what he meant. This wasn't just about tonight. The way he looked at me—like I was something precious, not just desirable—made my chest tight with emotion.

He pressed his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my lips. "Believe me, there's nothing I want more right now." His hand cupped my cheek, thumb stroking softly across my skin. "But I've waited too long to find someone like you, Ellie. I don't want to rush this and mess it up."

The sincerity in his eyes undid me completely. After so long feeling like I wasn't enough, here was this man—this incredible man—wanting to take his time with me, wanting to build something meaningful.

Now, alone in my bed, I press my fingers to my lips, still swollen from his kisses. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin, making me shiver despite the warmth of my blankets. For the first time in years, I don't feel the need to analyze or doubt or question. There's no voice in my head listing all the reasons this won't work out, no catalog of my own inadequacies playing on repeat. Instead, a simple thought floats through my mind,as sweet and certain as sugar: I might have found my person. The realization settles in my chest like a warm, glowing ember—unexpected but somehow exactly right.

8

INSECURITIES RESURFACE

ELLIE

I'm still floating on cloud nine three days after that incredible night with Nate. My body tingles just thinking about his touch, his mouth, the way he looked at me like I was some kind of miracle. I've caught myself smiling at nothing while piping buttercream roses, humming love songs I usually roll my eyes at.

I'm boxing up an order of lemon squares when the bell above the door chimes. My heart does a little backflip when I see Nate walk in with a fellow firefighter. He catches my eye and his smile—God, that smile—makes my knees weak.

"Hey," he says, approaching the counter while his friend hangs back.

"Hey yourself." I wipe my hands on my apron, suddenly self-conscious about the flour dusting my arms and the smudge of lemon curd I can feel on my cheek. My heart's doing that ridiculous flutter thing that makes me feel sixteen again. Three days since he made me come harder than I have in my entire life, and here I am, blushing like it's the first time a handsome man has walked into my bakery.

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