I roar her name, spilling deep inside her, the burn of it searing through every nerve ending. She tightens, every muscle gripping me like a trap, and for a heartbeat the world explodes.
It’s the fierce, blinding joy of claiming what I already know is mine.
The aftershocks hit hard.
My hands lock around her as I ride them out, throat burning from the shout that tore free. She trembles beneath me, her pulse fluttering against my skin, and I know—whether she says it or buries it under a thousand denials—that she belongs to me.
The world fades beneath the sound of shallow pants and the faint drag of fabric against tile. Still joined, I slump forward until our foreheads meet, sweat slicking the fine line of her hair, the scent of her perfume clinging to me like a mark I’ll never wash away. My grip doesn’t loosen. The possessive hold is the only thing keeping me steady in the wreckage we’ve made.
Still buried deep inside her, I let the silence settle. It’s thick and charged, the kind that makes every sound feel louder than it actually is. The aftershocks roll through us in slow, uneven waves until there’s no way to deny what just happened.
There’s no pretending it can be undone.
I want her to sit in it.
To feel the truth of us in every inch of our skin still pressed together.
There’s no escaping this.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
“There’s no more running, Rina,” I rasp. “Tomorrow, we’re going to sit down and talk.” My tone drops lower. “But right now, I needed you to remember who you belong to. And we both know it’s not the guy out there. It’s me.”
The claim hangs heavy between us. It’s blunt, possessive, and impossible to take back. I want her to taste it in the air and know I mean it all.
Her lips part and her throat works around a reply that never comes. A tremor ghosts through her fingers, and I can see the battle still being waged in her eyes.
The urge to fight for control even though it’s already slipped away.
My hand trails up the curve of her hip, thumb brushing the hollow of her waist before sliding higher until I can cradle her cheek. Her skin is warm and damp beneath my palm. Her pupils are still wide and cheeks flushed with color. But it’s her eyes that undo me. They’re vulnerable and unguarded in a way I’ve never seen.
“You have feelings for me.” The statement is rough and certain, carved from a place I can’t hide. “Stop trying to deny it.”
She says nothing. Only blinks once as her throat works like she’s trying to swallow down the truth.
Even now, after everything that just happened, she won’t admit it out loud.
Not yet.
But it’s written in every look, every crack in her composure.
And it’s enough to keep me coming back.
The way her fingers bite into my shoulders says more than any confession ever could.
She feels it.
I know she does.
I ease my hold, just enough to let my thumb trace the curve of her mouth. Her breath stutters against it, and the sound tightens everything inside me.
It’s proof she’s mine, even if she can’t admit it yet.
We stay locked together, forehead to forehead, as the truth gathers between us like a storm on the verge of breaking.
One of these days, she’ll stop fighting it.
And when she does, I’ll be right here waiting.
