"Nothing's wrong." I wipe my face, but the tears keep coming. "I called Julian."
His eyes widen. "Your brother?"
"Yeah." I let him pull me into his arms, let myself collapse against his chest. "I called him. I apologized. He forgave me."
Oakley's arms tighten around me. "That's good, right? So why are you—"
"Because I wasted six years." The words come out muffled against his shoulder. "Six years of being a coward. Of being the person our parents wanted instead of the person I should have been. And I did the same thing to you, Oak. I've been takingwhat I want from you for years and giving you nothing back." I pull back enough to look at him. "Julian told me not to waste chances. Not to hide what matters. Not to wait until I have no choice before I'm honest."
"Honest about what?" His voice is barely a whisper, and I can see the fear in his eyes. The expectation that I'm about to push him away again.
"About loving you." The words finally break free, raw and real. "I love you, Oakley. I have for years. And I've been too much of a coward to say it. Too afraid of being like Julian, of being weak, of being controlled by feelings."
His breath catches. In the dim light filtering from the hallway, I can see tears starting in his eyes.
"Say it again," he demands, his voice shaking. "Please. I need to hear it again."
"I love you." I frame his face with my hands. "I love you and I'm sorry it took me so long to say it. Sorry for every time I used you and pushed you away. Sorry for making you feel like you weren't enough."
"I love you too." His voice breaks. "God, Dorian. I've loved you since we were at prep school together. Since you first let me see past the golden boy mask. And I thought—I thought if I just stayed close, if I let you use me, eventually you'd—"
I kiss him before he can finish, tasting salt from both our tears. His hands clutch at my shoulders like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"I'm sorry," I whisper against his mouth. "I'm so fucking sorry for making you wait. For treating this like something to be ashamed of."
"Show me it's different now." His forehead presses against mine. "Show me this is real."
I pull him toward the bed. This time when we fall onto it, I don't rush. Don't take. I let him lead, let him kiss me like he's been desperate to do for years but never dared.
His hands shake as they push my sleep pants down. Mine are steadier when I return the favor, but only because I'm channeling years of wanting into action.
"I want you inside me," he says. "Want to feel you without all the dominance bullshit. Just us."
"Yeah." My cock is already hard, leaking. "Yeah, just us."
I prep him carefully—more carefully than I usually do—with slick and patience and attention to every sound he makes. This isn't about me taking what I want. This is about giving him what he deserves.
"Ready?" I ask, positioning myself.
"Please. Please, Dorian."
I push in slowly, watching his face. The way his mouth falls open. The way his eyes flutter closed then snap back open like he's afraid this is a dream.
"Look at me," I tell him. "I want you to see me. To know this is real."
He does, and the vulnerability in his gaze nearly breaks me.
I start moving, slow and deep, maintaining eye contact. Not fucking. Not dominating. Making love. Actually making love.
"You feel so good," I tell him, because he needs the words. Needs to hear that this matters. "So fucking perfect."
"Harder." His nails dig into my shoulders. "I'm not going to break."
"I know you're not." I thrust deeper, faster. "But I'm not rushing this. Not after years of treating you like a quick fuck."
"Dorian—"
"Let me take care of you." I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his cock. "Let me make you feel good. Let me give you what I should have been giving you all along."
