His lips slightly part like he’s going to say something, but then he stops. Instead, he exhales through his nose, like he’s letting something go, and presses his forehead to mine. His breath is warm against my lips, and for a second, we just exist in the space between us.
Then, just as softly, he tilts up my chin and kisses me.
And like before, it’s not a desperate kiss, not rushed or hungry. It’s deep and slow and weighted with something heavier than lust that settles into my bones.
“Little Thief…” He quietly sighs as he pulls away and meets my eyes. Then he does something I don’t expect—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing quirk of his lips. A real, soft, barely-there smile, like he just made peace with something inside himself.
His thumb traces a slow path along my jaw, then down my throat, watching me like he’s cataloging every tiny reaction I have to his touch and marveling at the fact that I’m letting him have this. Letting him have me.
And then, he surprises me again by asking, “Ever heard of the stoplight system?”
I blink. “What?”
His touch travels downward, his thumb blazing a path over my collarbone as he explains. “When we’re intimate with each other, I want to know how you’re feeling. I tend to rely too hard on your bodily cues since it’s what I do.” His thumb continues its path down. “But maybe your body is on board with things your mind isn’t. So I’m going to check in with you periodically and ask for your color.”
When his thumb draws achingly close to my nipple, he changes his touch and trails his fingertips down my bare arms.The touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice is serious, threaded with care. Consideration.
“Green means you’re enjoying things. Yellow means you’re okay but starting to get a little nervous. And red means stop, full out.” His voice dips lower, almost a growl. “If you ever say red, we stop immediately and figure out what went wrong, how we can redirect. Got it?”
I swallow thickly. No one’s ever asked me that before. No one’s ever cared enough to make sure I had an out. “Okay.” I nod, my mind spinning.
I’ve never had a guy this intense in the bedroom. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? This isn’t just sex. It’s not just the physical. This is Koen. And Koen is always intense. Always all in.
His hands slide up to my shoulders, and his thumbs draw reassuring circles on my skin. “I can’t press enough how important it is that you’re not lying to me when I ask for your color. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you feel uncomfortable.”
“Fuck, Koen. How fucking kinky are you?”
His lips twitch, the tension breaking for just a second. But there’s something heated in his eyes, too, something dark and possessive.
“I’m really not.” His hands skim down my sides, pausing above the waistband of Sylus’s sweatpants. “I just like to have control. You know that.”
I do. And I love it.
His fingers slip into the pants and lower them with deliberate slowness, every inch leaving me more exposed.
“And like I said,” he continues. “I tend to read your body before you even register what you’re feeling. I don’t want to unintentionally strip you of your choices.”
It’s not just about control for him. It’s about making sure I want this. That I choose this and him.
And I do.
He tugs the sweatpants down over my hips, and I lift slightly, helping him. The movement feels natural, like something we’ve done a hundred times before, even though this is the first. Even though this is new, I already know it’s something I’ll crave again. Him. His hands on me. His eyes drinking me in like I’m something worth savoring.
The pants slide down my thighs and land on the floor, leaving me in Sylus’s boxers, nothing else between me and the weight of Koen’s stare.
Koen exhales a slow, measured breath, his pupils dark and consuming as he takes me in. Not just my body—me. I feel it in the way he looks at me like he’s peeling back the layers of who I am, stripping me down with more than just his hands.
“Just because I know you want something doesn’t mean you want to go through with it.” He grasps my chin, tilting my face up to his. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and I part for him instinctively, my breath catching in my throat. “Stoplight, precious. Can you do that for me?”
I’ve had men want me before, but I’ve never had one want me like this. Like my pleasure, my consent, my trust is something sacred.
My throat feels dry. “I think so.”
He tilts his head as he regards me. “Not good enough.”
I take a shaky breath, my hands clenching in the sheets beneath me. Koen waits, giving me space to choose, to be sure. His restraint is another form of dominance, a deeper kind of control—the kind that makes my heart hammer because it’s not just about power. It’s about trust.
“Yes.” I steady myself. For him, for me, for this. “I’ll tell you to stop when I want you to stop.”
