“Ven aquí,” I whisper.
Luke rises slowly, deliberately, until we’re chest to chest again.
“What’s that mean?”
“Come here,” I reply, even though he’s less than a breath away.
“Look at that, I’m a good boy without even trying,” he says.
I manage a small laugh, still dazed from my orgasm. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he says, nudging his nose against mine. “But you like that about me.”
I do. Too fucking much.
SEVENTEEN
LUKE
Silas is dressed again—mostly.Joggers slung low on his hips, shirt clinging to his chest in all the right ways. He looks wrecked in the best way. Relaxed. Boneless in his chair like I wrung every ounce of tension from him and left him too blissed-out to be mad about it.
I, on the other hand, am perched on the edge of his desk, still half-hard and flushed and feeling a little like running a fucking victory lap.
I swing one leg slowly, grinning down at him. “That all it takes to wear you out? One orgasm? Guess I’ll have to start pacing myself, old man.”
He lifts an eyebrow, mouth twitching at the corner. “I wasn’t aware you were holding back.”
“Oh, I wasn’t.” I stretch like a cat in a sunbeam, deliberately smug. “But next time, I’ll bring water and a towel. Maybe some ibuprofen. You know, just in case you pull a muscle or something.”
Silas snorts, but his gaze lingers—softer now. Less wrecked. More… focused.
That’s the part that makes me uneasy.
“We should probably talk about what this is,” he says after a beat, voice lower.
Shit.
There it is. The shift I have always avoided like the plague. The air thickens, tension crawling up my spine in a way that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with panic.
“Whatthisis?” I repeat, trying for light but hearing the edge in my own voice. “It’s a good time. With excellent…extracurriculars.”
“Luke.”
I hate the way he says my name. Gentle. Like he’s not trying to trap me, but it still feels like that.
“I’m not asking for a label right this second,” he says. “I just want to know if we’re moving toward something. Or if this is still a one-night stand that got lost and wandered into week two.”
I go still.
The weight of it settles fast. I should’ve seen this coming—hell, I probably did—but it doesn’t make it easier to swallow.
He watches me carefully, and I feel exposed in a way I’m not used to. Not even when I’m naked. Not even when I’m begging.
“I don’t really do labels,” I say finally, keeping my tone even. Distant. Safe. “Boyfriend, partner, whatever—none of it really fits.”
Silas doesn’t flinch. But I feel him shut something down. It’s subtle. A tightening behind the eyes. A shift in how he holds himself.
He nods once, slowly, then glances toward the field outside the office window. “Okay.”
