"Now," she says. "Please."
That word from her mouth. I don't survive it.
I settle between her thighs and push inside her, watching her face the entire time. The way her lips part. The way her eyes go half-closed and then find mine, holding contact like she's decided I matter.
It does something to me I'm not prepared for.
Not just want. Something more dangerous than want.
I start to move, and she adjusts to match me immediately, her hips rolling up to meet each stroke, her body already knowing what mine is doing before I do it. I keep the pace measured, even though everything in me says to go faster. I want to watch her, want to see every expression cross her face, want to feel every small sound before it becomes a loud one.
Her nails drag down my back, and I give her more.
"God," she breathes. "Don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping.
I shift my weight and change the angle, and her breath cuts off completely for one suspended second before she gasps, and that reaction makes me do it again, and again, until she's gripping my shoulders hard enough to pinch and whispering please against my lips.
"Look at me," I say quietly.
She does.
Eyes open. On mine. Fully present in this, in me, in something she has no idea is built on a fault line.
Her whole body tightens. I feel it building in her — the way her breathing stutters, the way her thighs lock around me — and I drop my hand between us and push her over the edge a second time while I'm still moving inside her.
The sound she makes undoes me completely.
I follow her with my face pressed to her neck and her name somewhere in my chest that I don't say out loud, because saying it feels like crossing a line.
I blow my load into the condom I’m wearing and press my forehead to hers, trying to catch my breath, trying to process what just happened.
I crossed a line I can't uncross.
And the worst part?
I don't regret it.
She traces patterns on my chest, her breathing slowly evening out.
"Stay," she whispers.
It's not a question. Not a demand.
Just a request from someone who doesn't want to be alone.
"Okay," I say.
Because, regardless of Theo and the plan and the danger and the inevitable fallout, I can't bring myself to leave.
Not tonight.
Not when she's looking at me like I'm something worth holding onto.
Chapter 21: Adela
Sunlightfiltersthroughmywindow in soft bands, cutting across the bed and warming my face.
