“Let me,” I murmur.
I cradle his face in both hands, brushing my thumbs over the tear tracks on his warm skin. His cheeks are flushed, damp, his eyes rimmed red, but he’s still breathtakingly beautiful. There’ssomething almost unearthly about him when he’s like this — raw, stripped bare, vulnerable. Like, he doesn’t even realize how much he glows in the dark.
“You’re gonna pay for making me cry like this,” he mutters, voice hoarse and thick with emotion, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip.
A slow smile curves on my mouth.
“Gladly,” I whisper, leaning in.
I kiss him — once, then again. Gentle. Grounding. Just the brush of lips, like I’m telling him I’m here without needing words. Like I’m promising him that he’s safe. Wanted.
I reach for my phone, fire off a quick text to Mike, then toss it aside.
“I just got off a long-ass flight,” I say softly, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “I haven’t even rested yet.”
My hand slides to his waist, fingers curling there possessively.
“I want to take you home with me. I miss you.” I press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I want to kiss every inch of your body, make you forget your own name until all you can do is scream mine. And when I’m done, I want you wrapped up in my arms, asleep on my chest where you belong.”
His breath catches, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips — the kind he gives me when he’s not sure how to hold all the emotion swelling in him. But his eyes say it clearly:Yes. I want that too.
I kiss him again.
This time, deeper. Slower. My hands cradle his jaw, holding him like he’s everything I’ve ever needed. It’s the kind of kiss that pulls the air from the room, that says everything I haven’t yet. And when Mike slides into the front seat and the car rolls into motion, I don’t stop.
***
We’re in my bedroom now, the lights dimmed to a golden haze, the silence between us soft and full. Lucas is lying on my chest, his breath slow, steady, anchoring me to the moment. My hands trail gently over the bare skin of his back, feeling the rise and fall of his body against mine like waves. He’s everywhere — in the air, on my skin, under my fingertips. His scent, that faint sweetness and warmth that only he carries, wraps around me like a drug, and I close my eyes as I take it all in.
His head is tucked beneath my chin, his cheek pressed to my shoulder like he’s finally let himself rest. One of his hands is curled loosely against my chest, and his whole body is tangled with mine like we were made for this shape. For this silence. For each other.
Mike had driven us back, and we didn’t last a second. We’d barely made it through the penthouse before we were on each other again. It wasn’t just lust; it was something deeper. Desperate. Like the space between us over the past few days had been oxygen-deprived, and now we couldn’t get enough air unless we were touching. Kissing. Pressed together like skin to skin could erase the ache.
The elevator, the hallway, the bedroom — we didn’t stop. Every kiss, every gasp that left his mouth was laced with leftover emotion, like the remnants of that breakdown were still clinging to him, and I was the only thing keeping him steady. I promised I’d kiss him all over, and I did, trailing my mouth down his neck, his chest, over every freckle and tremble. I whispered how much I missed him between each kiss, and showed him just how much I do.
He came hands-free with my fingers deep inside him, brushing over that spot that made his whole body arch and break as he trembled, gasping and calling my name like a prayer.
Then after that, I laced my fingers through his — holding those delicate hands in mine as I stroked both of us together,slow and tight, until we were shaking against each other, breathless and undone.
But I didn’t go further.
Not yet.
And it’s not because I don’t want to. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Every inch of him drives me insane. His sounds, his reactions, the way he holds onto me like I’m all he’s got. I want to fuck him and be deep inside him so bad I can barely breathe.
But I didn’t. And it took everything in me not to.
Because I need him to know, really know, that this isn’t about that.
Not about sex, not about repayment, and especially not about the fucking trust fund I gave him.
I see it in his eyes sometimes. That flicker of doubt. That voice he tries to bury that’s telling him he’s only being cared for because I feel sorry for him, or worse, because he owes me something.
And I can’t stand that.
I don’t want his first time to feel like some unspoken transaction. I don’t want him wondering if whatever I gave him means he has to give something back. I don’t want him to look at me and question whether what he has with me is an obligation.
And I’m not going to cross that line until I’m sure he knows this isn’t something he has to earn.
