The hotel room was dim and quiet. Terrence shut the door and didn’t move right away. He just watched you, jaw tight, eyes heavy.

Then he stepped in.

His hands went where they wanted. No hesitation. One firm at your waist, the other lower, solid, sure. Not gentle. Not rough either. Just confident, like he knew exactly what he was touching.

A breath left him through his nose.

“fuck,” he muttered. “i really married this.”

His grip tightened, grounding himself more than you.

“you know what pisses me off, ma?” “i thought i was ready.”

A pause. His thumb pressed in, slow, intentional.

“turns out i’m not.”

Another breath, closer now.

“every night i gotta remind myself to chill,” “and you make that shit real hard.”

He stayed there, hands still on you, unapologetic.

“my wife,” he said quietly. “built like trouble.”