Of how easily it could be filled.
What would he be like in bed?
The question hit with startling clarity.
Controlled there, too?
Or would that control snap?
Would all that contained violence turn into something else entirely when he stopped holding back?
I imagined him above me, muscles shifting under my hands as he moved. The intensity in his eyes turning focused and raw. The way his voice would sound saying my name, low and rough and honest.
Or—
Me on top.
Would I like that even better?
His hands on my hips, guiding, letting me set the pace until restraint gave way and he took over again.
A small, embarrassed sound escaped me in the dark.
Jesus, Ella.
But the fantasy refused to fade.
Because beneath the attraction was something simpler.
Recognition.
That same primitive certainty that had hit me the moment we met.
I want that one.
Not logical.
Not careful.
Just instinct.
Like some ancient part of my brain recognized safety and danger wrapped in the same man and decided both were acceptable risks.
Maybe even desirable ones.
He was dangerous.
I knew that.
The bruises. The fights. The way he scanned rooms automatically. The casual competence around threat.
But—
He’d also stepped between me and traffic without thinking.
Offered help without strings.
Showed up when he said he would.
