Yes

Eli didn’t answer at first.

His mouth opened—but nothing came out. His eyes flicked up to hers, then back down, helplessly drawn to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the elegant curve of her waist, the garters hugging her thighs like black silk vines.

His hands were still clenched, but his knuckles had gone pale. The breath he finally pulled in sounded ragged.

Emily took a slow step forward.

The floor creaked beneath her bare foot.

Then another step.

Eli’s whole body tensed, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. He just watched—like watching her was the only thing anchoring him to the moment, like she was both gravity and fire.

She stepped between his knees.

Her fingers slid down and rested lightly on his shoulders. He looked up at her, eyes wide, lips parted, his whole frame wound tight like a spring.

“Still okay?” she whispered.

He nodded, but his voice didn’t come. It didn’t need to.

She sank to her knees slowly—graceful, deliberate—until her face was level with his, her body pressing between his legs. The garter straps brushed against his jeans. She felt the heat of him radiating through the denim.

One hand slid up to his cheek, just grazing the bruised skin under his eye.

He flinched—not away, but into it.

“You’re still beautiful,” she whispered.

Eli swallowed. His eyes shimmered slightly, but it wasn’t pain anymore.

“You don’t have to do this,” he rasped.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

And then she leaned in, lips brushing his—soft, tender, testing the space between them not with lust, but with the reverence of someone returning something that should never have been stolen.

The first kiss was featherlight.

The second had heat behind it.

And the third was when he finally kissed back.