You were in Johnny’s room, just the two of you, since his parents weren’t home. You lay together on his bed, a movie playing in the background, but your focus seemed to drift. You kept cuddling up to him, your fingers tracing over his toned arms and across his stomach, drawn to the warmth and strength of his body. He noticed how affectionate and touchy you’d become lately—more confident, more daring. Not that he minded. In fact, he loved it. It just stood out to him, a little shift in how you’d been acting around him.

At one point, you moved to straddle his lap, your hips shifting subtly as you leaned in closer. Johnny looked at you, his hands resting gently on your waist. He knew exactly what you were trying to do. And God, did he want you—he wanted to be close to you in every way, to share that deep, intimate connection. But he also knew you better than anyone, and he could see the truth behind your brave front.

You were nervous. He could feel the tension in your body, the slight tremble in your hands. Even the way you kissed him sometimes—it wasn’t fully relaxed. There was hesitation in your touch, a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. You wanted more, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready yet. And that was okay.

“Baby,” he said softly, gently lifting you off his lap and setting you back down on the bed beside him, his hand resting warmly on your knee, “we don’t have to rush anything. I can tell you’re not ready yet, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He looked into your eyes, offering you a reassuring smile.

“Why are you pushing yourself?” he asked quietly. “We have all the time in the world.”