I'll Let You Set The Pace Novels & Stories

"What's up?" "You're burning through your adrenaline reserves too fast, man," Tony warned. "You need to pace yourself better. Save the real aggression for the final lap." I felt a flash of irritation at the advice. I know what I'm doing. "Don't remind me about pacing," I shot back, my voice tight with frustration. "I'm not going to forget when to use what I've got." "I'm just saying—"

“Do it slowly. Not too much. As much as I would like to have you rough, you can’t breathe that hard.” I frown. Already I can tell he’s right. It is getting difficult to breathe. I slow down, matching the same pace that he is moving. “There’s no need to rush,” he says. “We’ll get there at this pace, even if it takes us the rest of the day.”

“That's the plan. But hey, if you need to walk, walk. It's all about your pace.” “I thought the idea was not to walk.” She laughed. “Celeste, if we ran based on what other people thought, we'd all be sprinting. Your journey, your pace.” I shifted the treadmill to a slower speed, finding a comfortable yet speedy walking pace as Fiona kept her jog steady. It felt awkward to be walking while so many others around me were effortlessly running, but I kept my head down, bobbed along to the music playing in my headphones, and tried to focus on myself.

His hair was a mess, his scar pale in the morning light, his mouth wearing the ghost of a smile he hadn’t decided to own yet. “Hi,” I said, because anything more complicated would have tangled. “Hi,” he echoed, voice low with sleep, hand drawing lazy lines between my shoulder blades like he was telling my back a secret. I propped my chin on his chest, the quilt pulled up around us like a shared thought. “Thank you,” I said, simple and specific, “for not marking me yet.” The smile bloomed all the way. “We will always set the pace,” he said, each word a nail in the promise. “No accidents. No noise-written vows. Only what we both ask for in daylight.”

she said. “I’m making it clearer.” “No, you’re escalating it.” “I don’t do slow.” “And they don’t rush,” she replied. “That’s the difference.” William stepped back slightly, not retreating, just creating enough space to think without losing focus on her. “Then I force them to,” he said. Her eyes narrowed just a little. “You think you can control the pace?” “I control everything I’m involved in.” “That’s exactly why they’re interested in you.” He didn’t respond to that immediately.

He was beautiful. "I've..." I paused to catch my breath and collect my thoughts. "I've never thought of having a mate, it was something I didn't think I'd experience... I want to be with you, I need to. But I need to go at my own pace. I don't want to talk about why, not yet, but I hope you don't-"

I lift my body a little and look into her eyes before speaking. “Lovely, I'm going to ask you something, but if you don't want to, I will understand.” She just nods, her breathing ragged. “I want you to come on top this time.” “Do you want me to ride you?” “Yes, and I also want you to set the pace this time.” “Okay, I will do it.”

"He's intelligent, but he lacks patience. He's arrogant and reckless. Your job is to keep an eye on him." She spoke plainly, and I answered just as directly. "I understand, Mother." Lydia's fingertips paused ever so slightly. It was the first time I had addressed her that way. She didn't correct me. For an instant, her eyes lit up. She slid a black credit card bearing the family crest across the table and said gently, "You've earned a day off today. Go look around. Buy whatever you like." It was my first day off in an entire year. It was also the first time I had left the estate in that year.

Neither of us moves away. “This isn’t confusion,” she says suddenly. I turn to her. “What?” “What we’re doing,” she clarifies. “It’s not mixed signals. It’s not uncertainty.” I consider that. “Then what is it?” She meets my gaze. “Intentional pacing.” The words hit harder than any accusation could. I nod slowly. “I’m not used to that.” “I know.” “Most people rush to claim,” I admit. “Or retreat.” “And you?”

His eyes flicker—just a small shift, but enough to tell me he heard the part that mattered. I take a breath, grounding myself. “If we’re going to make this work—whatever ‘this’ ends up being—I need honesty. Patience. And for you to understand that I’m not used to relying on anyone.” My fingers curl in my lap, a nervous habit I can’t shake. “But… I’m willing to try. At my pace.” The room feels warmer suddenly, quieter in a different way. Less tense. More… possible. I meet his gaze again, steadier this time. “So don’t push. Don’t rush. Just… stay. And we’ll see where this goes.”