He doesn't know how to do this. His fingers tighten against the fabric of her shirt as he bears in and kisses her all the harder, burying his face in the warmth of her neck as he tries to understand what he can say, how he can get the words out. Before, weeks ago, he'd just decided for them.

She wants to be his, she says she loves him, so why can't he say the words. He eases back, a half-lidded and dazed look in his eyes and he reaches for her waist again, staring at how beautiful she is and knowing he's going to mess it up no matter what. "Come to the bedroom," he pleads.