But I want to. Want to taste him. Want to make him feel what he made me feel.
It doesn't take long before he's hard again, pulling me up, kissing me desperately.
"You're going to kill me," he mutters against my mouth.
"Good."
This time, I'm the one who straddles him. Who takes control. Who sets the pace.
And he lets me.
Afterwards, we're both wrung out. Exhausted. Tangled together in sheets that smell like sex and him.
"I need to tell you something," he says into the silence.
"What?"
"I'm not a good man, Lila. I'm a killer." His fingers trace patterns on my spine. "These tattoos? They're not decorative. The stars on my shoulders mean I'm a captain. High-ranking. The cathedral means I've done time. The crosses mean I've killed for the Bratva."
"I know."
"Do you? Do you really understand what that means?" He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "I'm not the hero in your books. I'm the villain. The one who takes what he wants and doesn't apologize for it."
"I know," I repeat.
"And you still said yes."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because I had no choice. Because from the moment he walked into that diner bleeding, this was inevitable. Because fighting it felt like fighting gravity.
"Because I wanted to," I say instead. Simpler. True enough.
"Liar." But he's smiling. "You wanted to, but you also know you had no choice. The moment I decided you were mine, it was over."
He's right, and the scariest part is that I'm not scared.
I should be. Instead, I feel relieved I can finally stop pretending I have any control over this situation. Over him. Over myself.
"So what now?" he asks.
"That's your decision."
"Rest," he says finally, pulling me against him. "We'll discuss this tomorrow."
I curl into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. Feeling his breathing even out.
And for the first time in days, I fall asleep feeling completely, utterly safe.
Despite knowing what he is.
Despite knowing what I've become.
Despite knowing there's no going back from this.
Maybe especially because of all that.
