The First Glader

16

He hesitated before asking, "You want company?"

Ada swallowed. "Yeah. I do."

George crossed the small space and sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched. He didn't say anything at first — just breathed out slowly, a warm, steady presence.

"Long day?" he murmured.

"I guess," Ada said, staring at the lantern. "Everything just... feels a lot lately."

George nodded. After a moment, he reached out and brushed his thumb over her knuckles — light, testing.

Ada's breath hitched.

George noticed.

He shifted closer, voice dropping. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Ada tried to shrug, but it came out more like a shiver. "I keep trying to carry everything myself."

"You don't have to," George said quietly.

Ada looked at him then — really looked. The faint freckles. The curve of his jaw. The way his eyes softened when they landed on her.

Without thinking, she whispered, "Why are you always so gentle with me?"

George let out a breath — shaky, warm, vulnerable. "Because you make it easy to be gentle."

Ada's pulse stuttered.

George reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, slow, careful, lingering.

She leaned into it.

George's voice turned husky. "Ada..."

She didn't move away.

Didn't even consider it.

He cupped her jaw, thumb stroking lightly along her cheekbone. The touch burned in the softest, sweetest way — enough to steal her breath but not overwhelm it. She turned her face toward his hand without meaning to.

George noticed. His breathing deepened.

"Tell me to stop if this is too much," he whispered.

Ada swallowed. "It's not too much."

He dragged in a sharp breath — like her words had undone him.

Then he kissed her.

Not fast.
Not clumsy.
Not hesitant.

Slow, deep, certain — like he'd been holding this moment in his hands for weeks and was finally allowed to touch it.

Ada's fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. George groaned softly into her mouth, his other hand sliding around her waist to anchor her gently against him.

The kiss deepened — warm and hungry without being rushed, his lips moving against hers with a growing confidence that made her whole body ignite.

George pulled back only enough to breathe her in. His forehead rested against hers, breath brushing her lips.

"You have no idea," he murmured, voice rough, "how much I want you."

Ada's breath caught. "George..."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, slow and deliberate, sending heat down her spine. Then along her jaw. Then her neck — barely there, just enough to make her gasp.

George inhaled sharply at the sound. "God, Ada..."

Her hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He kissed her again, harder this time, his lips parting hers, his breath mingling with hers until she forgot the world beneath the treehouse even existed.

Every kiss stole something from her — breath, thought, sense — and replaced it with something new, something warmer, something she'd never been allowed to want before.

They didn't rush.

They didn't need to.

George lifted her into his lap with careful, steady hands, and Ada went willingly, knees bracketing his hips, their bodies fitting together like some part of her had always known exactly where to settle.

His hands stayed respectful — warm on her waist, fingers pressing just enough to ground her without claiming her.

Ada's heartbeat thundered as George kissed her again, deeper, slower, pulling her closer, leaving a trail of heat wherever his lips touched.

He pulled back finally, breathing hard, eyes black with emotion.

"Ada," he whispered, voice trembling, "tell me you want this."

Ada brushed her thumb over his cheek. "I do," she whispered. "I want you."

The sound George made — a low, breathless, disbelieving exhale — nearly unraveled them both.

He kissed her again, slower now, deeply tender, like he was memorizing the taste of her, the shape of her mouth, the feel of her hands in his hair.

Ada pressed her forehead to his, breath shaky. "George?"

"Yeah?" he murmured, lips ghosting hers.

"You're... really important to me."

His expression softened in a way she'd only seen once — the night they first kissed.

"Good," he whispered. "Because you're everything to me."

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's warmth, breaths mingling, hearts racing, the Glade quiet beneath them.

Not rushing.
Not pushing.

Just being.

And finally—finally—letting themselves want.

The next month softened into a rhythm that felt almost—almost—like normal life.