“What?”
“Don’t lie to me again.” The words hit me straight in the stomach, they’re so honest.
My heart breaks cleanly in one slow crack.
“I…” I swallow. “I’ll try.”
He doesn’t accept that. His hand slides to the back of my neck and he pulls me to him, our breaths mingling.
“No trying,” he says quietly. “I need you to promise me.”
I close my eyes because looking at him makes it harder. “Okay,” I whisper. “I promise.”
The lie burns the second it leaves my mouth.
He exhales like he’d been waiting for that breath. He pulls me closer, his hand sliding down my spine, slow and warm and steady, and my whole body reacts to him in a way I can’t hide. His fingers curl into my hip and he lifts my chin with the other hand.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
He kisses me before I can say anything else. His lips are warm and searching, not rushed but not patient either. It feels like he’s trying to anchor himself to me, trying to make sure I’m still here, and it’s the gentleness that ruins me because he has no idea what I’m planning.
His hands move over my waist, up my ribs, touching me like he’s memorizing the shape of me. The kiss deepens, turns hotter, more certain, and when his mouth trails down my neck my breath catches in my throat.
He lifts me easily, his palms sliding under my thighs, and lays me down on the bed without breaking the kiss. The weight of him settles over me, familiar and grounding and terrifying in a way I don’t want to think about.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Nothing.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, brushing my hair off my cheek. “Kira.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk right now. Too much has happened lately. I’m just… overwhelmed.”
He searches my face again, but whatever he sees—the tremor of guilt, the raw, undeniable need—makes him let it go. His eyes, darker than I’ve ever seen them, lock on mine, reading the panic and the desire, accepting them both.
He leans down and kisses me, deep and warm, his tongue immediately claiming mine with the possessive ease of ownership. His hands slide under my shirt, roaming my bare skin, spreading heat across my stomach and back, tracing the curves and angles in a way that makes me forget everything for a moment—the money, the park, the lie.
We lose the rest of our clothes piece by piece, shedding the fabric onto the carpeted floor. Our bodies fit together like they’ve done this a hundred times before, the hot, slick contact of skin on skinmaking my pulse jump erratically. He pushes me back onto the soft mattress, following me down instantly, covering me with his weight.
He braces his arms on either side of my head, looking down at me, the low light catching the fierce possessiveness in his gaze. He shifts his weight, positioning himself between my legs, pressing the throbbing, heavy length of him against my slick, swollen center.
He pulls back just enough to look at my eyes, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Tell me you want me more than anything else right now, Kira. Say it."
I can’t speak, the sound caught in my throat, so I arch my back, silently begging for the invasion. My hips push up, demanding the pressure. He takes the cue, groaning low in his chest—a rough, deep sound that vibrates through my entire body.
He grips my hips with both hands, his fingers digging into my flesh, and pushes into me in one, powerful, deliberate thrust. The full, absolute shock of the contact steals my breath, the hardness of him settling heavy and complete inside me. I gasp, biting back the sound, my nails digging into the sheets as my body stretches and adjusts to the profound invasion.
He watches my face the whole time, his movements deep and slow. His breath is ragged, the intensity of his gaze a physical claim. Every stroke is measured, deliberate, forcing the pleasure to build excruciatingly slow. The sincerity in his eyes—the way he looks like this is the only anchor left in his world—makessomething twist painfully in my chest, mixing the raw physical sensation with the deep-seated guilt.
He pulls his hips back, nearly withdrawing, then slams forward again, using his own body to drive out the confusion and the fear, replacing it with the undeniable heat of his presence.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against my mouth, his voice low and rough, anchoring me with his absolute possessiveness.
“Yours,” I moan
“You love me.”
“I love you.” My voice breaks around the word, the truth of it raw and desperate.
