Emma watched him… really watched him.
The faint shimmer of candlelight caught in Elias's eyes, turning them into dark pools of hesitation and longing. His hands clutched at the sheets as though holding himself back, every muscle drawn tight, every breath measured.
And in that instant, she understood.
He wasn't uninterested. He was restraining himself.
All this time… the quiet nights, the gentle kisses she had to initiate, she'd wondered if perhaps his affection was gentler than hers, that maybe she loved him more than he loved her. The thought used to sting, quietly, like a thorn under her heart.
But now… looking at him, trembling between desire and reverence… she knew.
He wasn't distant; he was careful. Too careful. He looked at her like she was something sacred, something that might break if he held her too tightly.
And for once, Emma didn't want to be sacred. She wanted to be his.
