Silence stretches, thick and unbearable.
Then he exhales, long and controlled, as if sealing a decision. He orders, "Come closer."
I obey, letting the distance disappear. His presence wraps around me, grounding and overwhelming all at once.
He turns and leads me down the hallway, his hand hovering just behind my back.
Each step makes my legs weaker. The hallway feels too narrow, the air too charged. My senses scream from every shadow, every sound, every brush of movement amplified.
He opens the bedroom door, and my breath catches.
The room feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with what happens here and everything to do with who he is when he's alone. The bed, the low light, and the quiet all press in on me, making the moment feel enormous.
He turns to face me again, eyes dark and unreadable. He quietly states, "This changes things."
I nod, my throat tight. "I know."
He studies me for a long moment, like he's memorizing something he won't ever forget. Then his hand finally touches my arm, sending a fresh jolt through my entire body.
I gasp softly.
His thumb presses lightly into my skin, grounding me, claiming my attention. "You're shaking."
"I've been shaking all day," I admit, voice barely more than a whisper.
Danger and protection flicker across his expression. It's beautiful, scary, and sacred.
He eliminates all space between us, and my body turns to fire, sensations layering on top of each other until I feel dizzy with it and the realization I'm not afraid or unsure. I'm standing exactly where I chose to be, in a moment I know will divide my life into before and after.
As his hand tightens slightly on my arm, steady and certain, I realize another truth with startling clarity.
I didn't come here to be taken.
I came here to be claimed.
His mouth finds mine without warning, no gentle prelude, no hesitation. He kisses me deep and deliberate, stealing my breath and returning them hotter. His tongue slides against mine, tasting, demanding, and I open for him instantly, a soft sound escaping my throat as he takes everything I offer.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, fingers threading into the loose strands of my updo, tilting my head exactly how he wants it. The other palm presses flat against the small of my back, pulling me flush against him so every hard line of his body presses through his shirt. And the evidence of how much he wants this, thick and unmistakable against my stomach, makes my knees buckle.
A low growl rumbles in his chest as he stops me from falling while walking me backward until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of the bed.
The mattress dips as he lowers me onto it, never breaking the kiss, following me down until his weight settles over me, heavy and perfect.
I arch up into him, desperate for more contact. The thin straps of my dress slip off my shoulders under the slow drag of his palms. Cool air kisses my skin, then his mouth is there, tracing the line of my collarbone, nipping lightly at the hollow of my throat, then sucking on my hickey until I can't tell what's pain and what's euphoria.
I moan, "Red…"
He lifts his head, eyes almost black in the low light. "Say it the right way."
"Dr. Mercer," I whisper, bolder this time, and he rewards me with a kiss that's somehow deeper and hungrier. His fingers find the hem of my dress and push it upward, inch by inch, exposing the white lace beneath. When the fabric bunches at my waist, he pulls back just enough to study me.
The hunger on his face steals what little air I have left. He mutters, voice rough, "Christ, Bluebird. You look so innocent."
The word trembles out of me. "Yes. I've saved myself for you, Dr. Mercer."
His hands skim up my thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the lace. I'm already soaked, and a drop trickles down my leg.
"Look at you," he murmurs, dark approval threading his tone. "Offering yourself like this…knowing I won't be gentle just to spare you."
