"Tell me to stop." He's inches away now. Close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his bare skin. His eyes are dark, pupils starting to swallow the hazel. "Tell me to leave, and I will. I swear I will. Just say the word."
I should say it. Should push him away. Should protect myself from whatever's about to happen.
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Bane's hand comes up. Cups my jaw. His palm is warm, his fingers gentle as they curve around the side of my face. He tilts my head back, angling it up toward him, and I let him. Gopliant under his touch like my body knows something my mind hasn't caught up to yet.
"Max." My name is a breath on his lips. A question. A prayer.
And then he's kissing me.
It's nothing like Zero. Nothing rough or desperate or punishing. Bane kisses me like he's savoring it—slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against mine with a care that makes my chest ache. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, asking permission, and I give it without thinking.
Open for him. Let him in.
He groans into my mouth. Low. Rumbling. The sound vibrates through me and I feel it everywhere—in my chest, my stomach, lower. His other hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me.
I'm drowning.
The heat that's been simmering under my skin for days roars to life. My head swims, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm. I'm hard—achingly, desperately hard—and there's a hollow ache deeper inside me, an emptiness that demands to be filled. My omega biology kicking into overdrive, screaming at meto submit, to present, to let this alpha take whatever he wants.
I whimper against his mouth. Can't help it. Can't control any of this.
Bane deepens the kiss. Explores me. Learns the shape of my mouth like he's memorizing it. His body presses me back against the wall—not rough, just there, solid and warm and overwhelming. I can feel how hard he is against my hip and the knowledge makes me dizzy.
Then he pulls back.
His pupils are blown wide, just thin rings of hazel around endless black. His breathing is ragged. His hand is still onmy jaw, thumb stroking over my cheekbone like he can't stop touching me.
"I'm sorry," he breathes. "I just—I had to taste you. I had to know if—" He stops. Squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck."
His hand drops. He takes a step back. Then another.
"I won't—I'm not going to—" He's backing toward the door now, something like horror dawning on his face. "Fuck. I'm just like him. I'm just like Zero. I just—"
"Bane, wait—"
"No." He's at the door. Hand on the knob. Not looking at me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."
He's gone before I can stop him. The door closes. His footsteps retreat down the hall, fast and uneven.
I stand there. Back against the wall. Lips still tingling. Body still screaming.
I want to go after him. Want to tell him it's not the same—that he asked, that he stopped, that I wanted—
But I don't move.
Because going after him would mean admitting things I'm not ready to admit. Would mean opening a door I might not be able to close. Would mean making everything more complicated when it's already impossibly tangled.
So I stay where I am. Let him go. Let him think he's a monster like his brother.
Maybe it's better this way.
My legs give out. I make it to the bed, barely, and collapse face-down onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against my burning skin. My hips press into the mattress and I groan—half frustration, half something else entirely. I'm still hard. Still aching. Still feeling the ghost of Bane's mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the sound he made when he tasted me.
I bury my face in the pillow and scream.
