Aneira didn't speak right away.
She stared at him, really stared like she was trying to decide if what she wanted was safe. If he was safe. Her breathing was uneven, lips still parted, chest heaving beneath the soft fabric that now clung to her in places from the heat between them.
Her fingers, which had been pressed against his chest, moved slightly. Not away, but up, slowly and cautiously. Tracing his collarbone, then his jaw, her touch featherlight, like she was grounding herself. Her eyes glinted with something unreadable, hesitation and longing locked in a silent war.
And then she nodded.
Just once.
A barely-there movement. But he saw it.
She wanted this.
She wanted him.
His breath hitched, not from lust, but from the sheer gravity of her permission. It wasn't just consent. It was trust. Trust she hadn't given easily. Trust he knew she could snatch away at any second if he moved too fast.
So Jaxton didn't rush.
