"Probably." She tucked her legs under her, the movement making my t-shirt ride up again. "But that's not all of it."
"No?"
"You haven't hit me once. Even when I bit you hard enough to need stitches. Even when I destroyed your kitchen twice. Even when I broke your TV."
"I will not hurt you," I said, the words automatic now. "You have nothing to fear from me. I’m in control."
She studied me, her blue eye catching light from the window, the green deep as forests at night. "Is that what this is? Control?"
"Isn't everything?"
She moved closer still, close enough that her knee pressed against my thigh. The contact burned through my jeans like a brand. "I don't think you're in control right now."
She was right. My control had been fraying all week, every time she emerged from the shower with skin flushed pink. Every time she curled up small on the couch, unconsciously seeking warmth. Every time she said please in that furious, breathy voice that made me think things I shouldn't.
"You should go to bed," I told her, the words coming out rougher than intended.
"Should I?" She was so close now, looking up at me through those dark lashes. There was a challenge in it but also something else—want, maybe, or just the need to feel something other than captivity.
"Eva—"
But she kissed me.
It was soft, tentative, tasting like vodka and the mint toothpaste I'd bought her. Her lips barely brushed mine, uncertain, like she wasn't sure if this was rebellion or surrender or something else entirely. Her hand came up to rest against my chest, not pushing or pulling, just touching.
I should have stopped it immediately. She was vulnerable, possibly trauma-bonding, definitely too young, definitely too everything. She was twenty-two to my thirty-two, a girl who'd been in my power for a week, who had no real choice in any of this.
Instead, my hand curved around the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, holding her steady as I kissed her back.
Not soft. Not tentative. Ireallyfucking kissed her. I kissed her like I'd been thinking about it all week, deep and consuming, showing her what control actually looked like. My other hand found her waist, pulled her closer until she was practically in my lap, that stolen t-shirt twisted between us.
She made a sound—surprise or pleasure or both—and melted against me. Her mouth opened under mine, and I took the invitation, tasting vodka and something sweeter, something that was just her. She kissed like she fought—all in, nothing held back, throwing herself into it with desperate intensity.
Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer like she could crawl inside me if she just tried hard enough. I could feel her heart racing against my chest, rabbit-quick and wild. Could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric, every curve and angle I'd been trying not to notice all week.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, my hand still in her hair, holding her where I wanted her. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, lips parted and swollen from kissing. She looked wrecked and perfect and like everything I shouldn't want.
"That was a mistake," I said, my voice rough enough to sand wood.
She nodded, but didn't move away. If anything, she pressed closer. "Probably."
Neither of us moved. We stayed frozen like that, her practically in my lap, my hands on her, both of us breathing too hard for the amount of physical activity involved. The apartment felt too quiet, too still, like it was holding its breath waiting to see what we'd do next.
"I should—" she started.
"Don't," I said, not sure if I was telling her not to go or not to stay.
"This is complicated," she whispered.
"Everything about you is complicated."
"Is that bad?"
Before I could answer—before I could figure out what the answer even was—Bear barked from the floor. Not his usual puppy yip but a proper bark, startled and confused about why his people were tangled together on the couch.
The spell broke. Eva scrambled back like she'd been burned, color high on her cheeks, my t-shirt twisted and askew. She looked young suddenly, vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache with guilt.
"I should—bed. Yes. Sleep. I should sleep." She stood on unsteady legs, swooping down to grab Bear, holding him like a shield between us.
