Levan's voice reached her before his touch did, grounding and steady, and then his hand followed, settling on her thigh, two fingers resting higher while his palm enclosed her knee.
"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he said. "Even a little."
Ilaria swallowed. Her chest rose too quickly, then slowed as she forced herself to follow his cadence instead. Her gaze dipped to where his hand rested, registering the quiet weight of it. She could not tell whether it was meant to steady her or hold her there.
"I'm here," he continued, voice low and even. "Not ahead of you. Not dragging you anywhere you're not ready to be."
His thumb shifted once, barely there, more promise than pressure. "If you need me to stop, you stop me."
