“I’m just saying,” he continues, lips close to mine now. “You’re sitting here looking like a fucking Greek god, telling me I’m worth the risk, and you’re touching my hand like we’re sixty years old and holding court at a retirement home.”
I smile. I can’t help it. But I don’t lean in. Instead, I gently pull his hand from my leg and hold it between both of mine.
“Not until you say it.”
He blinks. “Say what?”
“That you want this. Even if it’s messy. Even if we have to be careful. Even if it’s not easy.”
He licks his lips, his eyes falling to my mouth before they drag back up to my eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I need to hear you say it, Luke,” I tell him. “Because I won’t be your secret unless I know you’re choosing me.”
He swallows hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. Then he says, “I want this.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s solid. “I wantyou,” he says again, louder now. “Even if we have to sneak around. Even if it’s complicated. Even if I have to fight every instinct I’ve built up to keep people out.”
I nod once, eyes locked on his. “Then we figure it out. Together.”
He lets out a shaky breath, and I feel the exact moment the tension in his body eases. He leans into me not for a kiss, but to be closer to me, his movements full of trust and warmth and every fucking thing I never want to lose again.
“You’re really not gonna kiss me now?” he mumbles into my shoulder.
“Not yet.”
“Sadist.”
I chuckle and press my mouth to his temple instead. “Rule number one: we don’t break each other.”
Luke sighs. “That’s a dumb rule.”
I smile. “Still one I’m keeping.”
“I thought rule number one was: shoesoff.”
I laugh, dragging my hand up his side to pull him closer. “That’s a different set of rules.”
“You have a lot of rules,” Luke murmurs, his fingers playing with the hem of my sleeve. “I’m not sure I can keep track.”
I hum, dragging him closer, until he’s practically sprawled across my chest as I lean back into the couch.
“Then we’ll go over them,” I say, all mock-serious. “One by one.”
Luke lifts his head just enough to arch a brow. “There’s a list?”
“Oh, there’s a list,” I reply, voice low with the kind of quiet threat that makes him shiver.
He grins, lazy and unrepentant. “Color-coded? Alphabetized?”
“Bound in leather.”
His eyes go wide for a beat, and I swear I see the exact moment the bratty switch in his brain flips.
“Daddy,” he says sweetly. “Are you making me a rulebook?”
I let out a slow breath, trying not to laugh as I brush my hand down his back. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, Iamtempting you. That’s half the fun.”
“Half?”
