No matter what happened, Hemingway could be certain that there was an equal balance of love and respect between them. He was almost surprised that it was a new feeling. He hadn't realised that something had been lacking for him with other women. He'd always been holding something back, some part of himself. Maybe out of fear, even if it came across as more of an aggressive dominance than an anxiety. Always over-compensating. Always protecting himself from some real or imagined rejection or judgement.
Abi could have all of him. Any time. He could be real with her, and not just in the bedroom. It was one hell of a weight off, to be able to drop the charade sometimes and just exist with her.
His heart was racing as she started to pull at her pants, his hands trembling slightly with desire as he tried to help her remove them. Her words drove him wild as it got all mixed up with the stories she'd told him. He wanted to be able to make her come as hard as she'd described, if he could. "Yes, yes. Use me, Knightly. I'm yours-" he told her desperately. He'd take instruction. He'd do exactly what she asked. Anything.