"You're sure?"
"I've been sure since Dublin. Since you looked at me in that garden like I was something worth wanting."
He's quiet for a moment.
His thumb traces my cheekbone, achingly gentle after the intensity of the last few minutes.
The contrast makes my heart ache.
"You're everything," he says quietly. "Do you understand that? Not just something worth wanting.Everything."
My heart cracks open.
I kiss him again—softer this time, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my lips against his.
He kisses me back the same way, and it's somehow more intimate than the desperate collision from before.
More terrifying. More real.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"So," I manage, my voice unsteady. "About that bed."
He laughs—a real laugh, surprised and warm.
It transforms his whole face, makes him look younger and lighter and almost happy.
"You're relentless."
"You're stubborn." I poke his chest. "We share. No arguments. I'm not listening to you do push-ups in the middle of the night anymore."
"What if I can't keep my hands to myself?"
The question is teasing, but there's real concern beneath it.
He's still worried about crossing lines. Still convinced he'll ruin me somehow.
"Then don't," I say simply.
His eyes darken. His grip on my hips tightens.
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I knowexactlywhat I'm saying." I hold his gaze. "I want you, RJ. In my bed, and I'm done pretending otherwise."
For a long moment, he just stares at me.
I can see the war playing out behind his eyes—duty versus desire, protection versus surrender.
Desire wins.
"Okay," he says roughly. "We share."
"Okay?"
"Okay." He kisses me again, quick and hard. "But I'm sleeping on top of the covers."
"That's ridiculous."
