"I know." The words come out broken. "That's what makes this so terrifying. Because if you were like him, it would be easy to walk away. But you're not, and that means if I let myself feel —if I let myselffall—the landing could destroy me."
Dylan leans closer. "Tell me what you need. More time? More space? Name it, and it's yours."
"For how long?"
"However long it takes."
"And if it's forever?"
Something flickers in his eyes—pain maybe—but his voice stays steady. "Then I'll be grateful for the chance to know you like this."
The certainty in his voice breaks something in me. I think about his family welcoming me without question. Margaret pulling me aside to thank me for making her son happy. Thomas's stories over dinner, Jake's easy laughter, and the way they all made space for me at their table like I belonged there.
I remember Dylan's hand on my lower back, guiding but never pushing, the way he looks at me during meetings like I'm something precious and powerful all at once; that night on his balcony after he saved me.
And I realize with stunning clarity that I'm tired of running.
"I don't want you to wait."
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch Dylan's careful control crack as hope and heat flood his eyes.
Before I can second-guess myself, before fear can make me retreat, I reach out into his space and crash our mouths together.
We both stand up to collide our bodies. Dylan's hands come up to frame my face, gentle at first, like he's afraid I'll bolt. But when I press closer and my hands fist in his shirt, his control shatters. He kisses me with tongue and teeth, like he's been drowning and I'm air, more than three months of restraint breaking all at once.
My back hits the edge of the conference table, and Dylan lifts me onto it without breaking the kiss, contracts scattering to the floor. His hands tangle in my hair, and my name becomes a prayer between us, breathed against my lips like something sacred.
Our kisses are desperate and deep, making up for weeks of careful distance, and I feel myself coming apart in the best way. Every place he touches—the small of my back, my cheeks, my waist—feels like coming back to life, like remembering what it means to want and be wanted without fear.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, I look at him with wonder, terror, and something that might be joy. His hands still frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with devastating gentleness.
"Tell me what you need," he says roughly, pressing his forehead to mine. "All your rules. Every boundary, every fear, every line you need me not to cross."
A laugh bubbles up, shaky but real. "I already broke rule number one."
"Which was?"
"No workplace romances."
Dylan's smile is slow and devastating, the one that made me want him from that first day he saved me. "Then I guess we're both breaking the rules."
He connects our mouths again, softer this time, like we have all the time in the world.
"Okay, fine. So I do have some conditions," I say when we part again, trying to sound businesslike even though I'm sitting on his conference table with my hair messed up and my lips swollen from his kisses.
"I'm listening." His hands settle on my waist, steady and sure.
"We keep it professional at work. No one finds out until we're ready."
"Agreed. Jake was already annoying before. I can’t imagine what he’ll be like if he finds out."
That brings a smile to my lips. "We go slow. I need time to—"
"Avery." He cuts me off gently. "We go at whatever pace you need. No pressure, no timeline, no expectations except honesty."
"And if I panic? If I run again?"
"Then I'll wait." His eyes hold mine, gray, serious, and full of something that makes my chest ache.
