Chapter Thirteen: Something New

The way he kissed her wasn’t too different from when a woman kissed her. Except he wasn’t soft. Not in the same way.

His mouth was firmer, the stubble along his jaw brushed against her skin with a friction she wasn’t used to, it was unexpected, and a little irritating. Not painful. Just… foreign. She couldn’t say she liked it. But she didn’t pull away, either.

It was new.

And then he moved his lips lower, pressing against the curve of her neck, the underside of her jaw, and her breath caught in her throat. That that she liked.

A shiver rippled through her, and for a moment, she hated that she’d reacted so visibly. But he didn’t gloat, didn’t grin or say anything smug. He just kept kissing her. Slowly. Intentionally. No rush. No ****. No assumptions.

Her body felt strange. Not wrong, exactly. Just… unfamiliar in this context. Like trying on clothes that weren’t made for her but didn’t pinch. Her awareness sharpened, every place they touched humming with the kind of electricity that wasn’t necessarily desire, but was certainly alive.

The press of his hands at her waist.

The firmness of his chest under her palms.

The steady rise and fall of his breath.

The quiet between them, heavier than silence.

She pulled back, just a little, just enough to look at him. Her fingers brushed the buttons of his shirt, and she began to undo them-one. Two. And then she stopped.

She looked at him, and she knew that he was hurting too.

She saw it in his eyes, the way grief clung to his shoulders like a coat he didn’t know how to take off. He’d been betrayed too. And even now, even here, she didn’t want to add to it.

“We don’t have to,” she said softly, her voice low but sure. “I mean… if you don’t want to.”

She meant it. She knew what it was like. the expectations placed on men. To be ready. To want it. To prove something. But this didn’t need to be that.

Daniel’s gaze held hers. Steady. Grounded.

“No,” he said—quietly, clearly. Not a rejection. An answer. “I want this.”

She watched him carefully.

He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t trying to convince her, or himself. There was no performance in his eyes, just a need. A simple, honest, human need.

It had been too long since he’d felt anything like this. Too long since Samantha had touched him in a way that felt real. That felt chosen.

He wanted this now. Not because he needed to feel powerful, but because he wanted to feel wanted.

So, she nodded and began to work on his shirt again. Her fingers worked more slowly this time, deliberate, focused. Beneath the fabric, she could already feel how solid he was, well-built, but not sculpted like a vanity project. Just strong. Lived-in strength. The kind that came from carrying too much for too long.

She shivered as his lips found her neck again. He kissed her there, softly, patiently. She had expected a man to be more forceful, more clumsy. But Daniel was neither. His mouth was reverent. Each press of his lips felt considered, careful. Almost like prayer.

Under her fingertips, his skin was warm and taut, tan and smooth over the quiet architecture of muscle and bone and tension. He carried it like a man who had spent a lifetime bracing himself.

He wasn’t beautiful in the way women were. there were no elegant curves, no softness that invited. But there was something else.

He moved slowly, watching her with that same steady patience he’d shown all night, waiting, listening not just with his ears, but with his whole body. For a breath that caught too sharply. For a shift in her posture. For the flicker of a no.

It never came.

So he kept going.

His fingers were gentle on the buttons, unfastening her, layer by layer, with the kind of care that said: I see you. The kind that said: You’re still in control.

And when the blouse finally slipped from her shoulders, catching briefly at her elbows before falling to the floor, it left her in nothing but a bra, not a lacy thing or delicate material meant for seduction. Marissa didn’t have much care for that, it was a simple thing, meant for an everyday occasion.

Nothing lacy. Nothing sheer. Just a soft, supportive thing in a warm neutral tone. The kind you didn’t think about until someone was staring at you in it.

“Shit,” Marissa murmured, half-laughing, half-exhaling as she looked down at herself. “Should’ve worn better underwear.”

Daniel didn’t laugh. He didn’t leer. His gaze didn’t roam hungrily. He just looked at her like she was worth remembering.

And then his hands found her, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. He brushed his palms along the curve of her ribs, up over the fabric, the weight of her. Her breasts were fuller than Samantha’s, her body more grounded, more present. His fingers spread wide against her, like he was trying to hold, not possess, but receive.

He kissed her chest then, above the edge of the bra, his lips moving slowly, trailing from one side to the other.

And Marissa let her head fall back just slightly, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t expected this kind of gentleness. She wasn’t sure what she expected. But it wasn’t this.

Not this quiet.

Not this care.

Not this man holding her like she was a prayer being answered, not a wound to be soothed.

So, she gave him a reward. Her hands moved behind her, unclasping her bra with practiced ease. The straps slid from her shoulders, the fabric falling away to reveal the bare breasts of hers.

Daniel drew in a breath, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. His eyes, wide with awe but softened by restraint, said everything. he paused, absorbing the way they moved with her, the way her nipples tightened in the cool air. He looked to her, making sure this was what she wanted.

He lifted his gaze to match her own, and in her eyes he saw it, A flicker of something that wasn’t fear. Wasn’t hesitation. It was a challenge. A dare. Make me forget.

Not forever. Not even for long. But just for tonight.

His lips found the curve of her breasts, as he made sure to kiss them with the same reverence he had every other part of her body. His mouth moved softly, tracing the swell, until he reached her nipple and drew it gently between his lips.

She gasped, a sound half pleasure, half disbelief.

She whispered something, at first inaudible, and then just a little louder, “Don’t stop,” she said.