I stay inside her, cock softening but refusing to leave, like my body knows what my mind won’t admit—that I’m already too far gone.
And when her shaking finally stills, when her breath evens out beneath me, I just hold her tighter, my mouth pressed to the crown of her hair.
I don’t say it out loud, but it claws at the back of my throat, anyway.
Mine.
Always fucking mine.
She shifts beneath me, trying to ease out of my hold, but I cage her tighter, arm locked around her waist, cock still inside her like I refuse to give it up. Because I do.
“You’re heavy,” she whispers, breathless, voice cracking from what I’ve already taken from her.
I nuzzle into her hair, lips brushing the damp strands. “Good. Means you can’t run.”
She goes still, chest rising sharply under mine. “I wasn’t going to.”
I smile against her temple, but it isn’t kind. “You think I don’t notice the way you look for exits, baby girl? Even while you’re begging for me to ruin you—you’re always calculating. You are always fighting yourself.
Her throat works as she swallows, and when her eyes tilt up to mine, they’re glassy, stubborn. “And you’re not?”
The jab hits deeper than I expect. My laugh comes out low, jagged.
“Sweetheart, I stopped fighting myself the moment you opened your mouth and mouthed off to me. You think I’m proud of this? You think I wanted to want you?”
Her fingers twitch against my chest like she’s not sure if she wants to claw or soothe. “You don’t even know what you want.”
I grab her chin, forcing her eyes back on mine. “Wrong. I know exactly what I want. You. Naked. On your knees. In my bed. For as long as I fucking decide.”
Her lips part, trembling. “That’s not a relationship, Dean. That’s possession.”
“Exactly.” My voice drops, dangerous, final. “And possession lasts longer.”
She shivers, a mix of fear and heat, and I feel her walls tighten around me again, a traitorous little squeeze that gives her away.
“See?” I murmur, grinding just enough to make her gasp. “Your body doesn’t hate me half as much as you pretend.”
She claws at my chest now, angry, wild. “And what if I fall in love with you? What then?”
I freeze. She already asked this. The words cut through me sharper than any blade.
Her eyes are wide, challenging, like she regrets saying it but refuses to take it back.
I lean closer, lips brushing hers, voice low enough to burn.
“Then you’re fucked.”
And I kiss her like I mean it—feral, bruising, too much—because if I don’t, I might say the thing that scares me more than her threat of love.
That I already am.
Goodbye Kate
His words won’t leave me.
Then you’re fucked.
It keeps circling my skull like a curse, a warning, a promise—because it wasn’t an answer, not really. It was avoidance wrapped in sharp edges, another mask he pulled down right as I thought I’d caught a glimpse of what lived underneath. And maybe that’s what makes it worse. That tiny, dangerous flash that he could want me back. That he already does.
