"Doctor." My voice broke. "Please. I want—I want to come home. Want to be in your bed. Want you to—"
"Want me to what?"
"Want you to make me yours." The words came out in a rush. "Completely. Want to stop pretending this is just research. Want to stop fighting something thatfeels—"
He kissed me before I could finish. Deep and claiming and nothing like the careful control he usually maintained. I could taste myself on his tongue, could feel his need in the way his hands shook as they freed my wrists.
"Come for me," he commanded against my lips. "Come now, just from this. Show me how good you can be."
And I did. The combination of his kiss, his command, and seven days of desperate need crashed together in an orgasm that felt like dying. I convulsed against him, only his weight keeping me grounded as wave after wave rolled through me.
"Good girl," he murmured, working me through it with gentle touches. "Such a good girl. So perfect for me."
When I finally stilled, he removed the blindfold. I blinked against the soft light, finding his face inches from mine. He looked wrecked—hair mussed, pupils blown, that perfect control in tatters.
"Hi," I whispered stupidly.
"Hello, baby." He traced my cheek with fingers that trembled slightly. "Ready to come home?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He freed my ankles, then gathered me up like I weighed nothing. I should have protested being carried like a child. Instead, I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in—expensive cologne and clean skin and something indefinable that meant safety in ways I couldn't examine.
His room was nothing like mine. Dark woods and navy walls, massive bed with grey sheets that probably cost more than my rent. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed a view I hadn't known existed—mountains and forest and sky full of stars.
"We're really in the middle of nowhere," I said against his throat.
"Hours from civilization." He set me on the bed, which was even softer than it looked. "Does that frighten you?"
"It should."
"But?"
"But I haven't wanted to leave for weeks." The admission came easier in the darkness of his room. "Even when the door was unlocked. Even when I hated you. I didn't want to leave."
"I know." He pulled back the covers, gesturing for me to get in. "That terrified me too."
I slid between sheets that smelled like him, watching as he moved around the room. He brought water, making me drink despite my protests. Found a soft t-shirt that drowned me in fabric. Performed these small acts of care with the same intensity he brought to everything.
When he finally joined me in bed, I didn't know what to expect. More sex? Clinical documentation of my responses? Instead, he simply pulled me against him, my back to his chest, and held me like I was precious.
"Sleep," he murmured into my hair. "You're safe."
"Am I?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"From everything but me." His arm tightened around my waist. "And yourself. But those are battles for tomorrow."
"What happens tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow, we stop pretending this is just research." His lips found the nape of my neck, pressing a kiss there that felt like a promise. "Tomorrow, we figure out what we really are to each other."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight, you're just my good girl who came home." His hand found mine, threading our fingers together. "That's enough."
It shouldn't have been. Should have sent me running to whatever exit I could find. Instead, I relaxed into his hold, letting his warmth seep into places that had been cold for seven days. Maybe seven years. Maybe forever.
"Gabriel?"
"Hmm?"
