His breath catches. His hands twitch against his thighs—wanting to reach for me, holding himself back. The restraint is visible, coiled tension in every muscle.
"You can look," I tell him, reaching back to unhook my bra. "You can't touch. Not yet."
"Fleur." My name sounds like it's being dragged over broken glass.
I let the bra fall. Step between his spread knees. Close enough that he could pull me down with one yank. He doesn't. Just stares up at me with those storm-grey eyes while his chest heaves.
"You've spent fifteen years not letting anyone in." I trace my fingers along his jaw, feel the muscle jump. "Fifteen years keeping everyone at arm's length. Fifteen years convincing yourself you don't need this."
"I didn't." His voice is raw. "I didn't need it. Until you."
"So let me in." I unbutton my jeans, shimmy them down my hips, kick them aside. Now I'm in nothing but underwear, standing over him while he sits fully clothed. The power imbalance does something to me—makes me bolder than I've ever been. "Let me see you."
His hands finally move. Grip my thighs hard, fingers digging in. I don't tell him to stop.
"I don't know how to do this," he admits, and it sounds like it costs him everything. "The other stuff—the fighting, the blood, the things that would make you run—that's easy. That I know. But this..."
"This?"
"Letting someone matter." His thumbs stroke restless patterns on my skin. "Letting someonestay."
I lean in. Press my lips to his forehead. His temple. The crease between his brows that never quite smooths out.
"I'm staying," I whisper against his skin. "So you better get used to it."
He breaks.
His mouth crashes into mine—not gentle, not careful, but desperate in a different way than last night. Last night was hunger. This is surrender. His hands slide up my back, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the groan rumble through hischest when my bare breasts press against the rough fabric of his shirt.
"Off," I gasp against his lips. "Take this off."
He yanks his shirt over his head, and then it's skin on skin—my softness against all that hard muscle, his tattoos rough beneath my palms. I straddle his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, and we both make sounds that aren't quite words when I settle against him.
"Need to feel you." His voice is wrecked. "Need to be inside you. Please, Fleur?—"
Thepleaseundoes me. This man who doesn't ask for anything. Begging.
I reach between us. Work his belt open, unbutton his jeans, free him. When my hand wraps around him, his head falls back and hegroans—loud and unguarded, the sound of someone who's stopped trying to control anything.
"Look at me," I tell him.
His head comes up. His eyes find mine. Blown dark, almost black, with something raw in them.
I rise up on my knees, push my underwear aside, and position him at my entrance.
"Fleur—" His hands grip my hips. "Wait, I need to—you need?—"
"I needyou." I sink down onto him.
The sound he makes isn't human.
I take him slow—inch by inch, letting my body adjust, feeling every ridge and pulse of him. His fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks, and his jaw is clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grind. But his eyes never leave mine. Not for a second.
When I'm fully seated, I stop. Let us both feel it. The stretch. The fullness. The overwhelming intimacy of being connected like this, face to face, breath to breath.
"Okay?" I whisper.
"No." His voice cracks. "I'm fucking ruined. You've ruined me. I'm never going to recover from this."
