“Please don’t—” I croaked. I shoved at his shoulder, tears streaming down my face, desperate to wrench the journal away, to erase the pages before he could read all that was there.
Matty continued to hold me firm. His thumb brushed slow circles against my hip, the touch gentle enough to unravel me. With his other hand, he closed the journal in one swift motion and tossed it onto the bed.
He tipped my chin up, fingers warm against my skin as he forced me to meet his eyes.
My sobs only got worse, and apologies tumbled out like a broken thing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see. I tried to stop. I shouldn’t have written—” The words choked out of me, faster than any control I thought I had.
“Stop,” he cut in firmly. His hand slid under my jaw, tilting my face until I met his gaze. The pressure was intimate, steady. “Stop. Look at me. Why do you think this is a big deal?”
My breathing hitched. He didn’t look angry. Or disgusted. Just calm…and confused. Like he couldn’t understand why I was falling apart.
I opened my mouth to blurt another apology, but he shook his head, cutting me off. His face had folded into something that was almostfierce.
“You don’t ever apologize for wanting me.” His thumb brushed over my cheek again, softer this time, tracing the damp trail of tears on my skin. “Not when I want you just as bad.”
I shook my head, trembling. “Why aren’t you mad? Youshouldbe mad. You should think it’s weird,” I insisted.
His jaw flexed, and suddenly he was pulling me tighter against his chest, like he was afraid I’d slip through his arms if he didn’t hold on. His scent wrapped around me, and I breathed him in with desperate gulps.
“Listen to me, Ophelia.” He kept a solid grip on my chin so I still couldn’t look away. “I’m not saying it to make you feel better. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You writing my name doesn’t make you crazy. It makes you…mine.”
Heat coursed through me, disbelief warring with a sharp, needy thrill.
“You think I don’t notice how careful you are around me?” His lips ghosted over my temple, the brush of them making my whole body shiver. “How you shrink back like you’re not allowed to want what you want? Pretty baby, I want that. I want all of it. Every thought, every page, every little piece of you you’ve been hiding.”
My throat closed. “But it’s—too much.”
Itwastoo much.
And there was so much more than a journal. There was so much that I couldn’t tell him.
“Not for me.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek, lingering there, then trailed lower to the edge of my jaw. Each touch was a reassurance, a seal over the cracks inside me. “Never for me. You could fill every notebook in your room with ‘Mrs. Adler,’ and I’d still want more. Because that’s not too much—it’s exactly what I want. You giving me all of you. No shame. No apologies.”
I whimpered, my hands clenching in his shirt like I’d drown if I let go.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, brushing his lips back up to the corner of my mouth. His breath was hot against my skin, each word trailing goose bumps in its wake. “Always trying so hard to do everything right. Always tearing yourself apart because you think it’s wrong to love me this much.”
His hand splayed across my back, pulling me closer until I could feel the rough pounding of his heart against my chest. “You sat there tonight, defending me like it was as easy as breathing. You were incredible.”
His voice roughened, like the memory had scraped something raw. “I couldn’t even look at you in the restaurant…or in the car after, because I didn’t trust myself not to pull over and strip you bare. I didn’t trust myself not to lose it completely.”
He lowered his head, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “It’s not wrong, Ophelia. It’s perfect.You’reperfect.”
My chest ached, but my knees had gone soft, heat pooling inside me insistently.
He felt the shiver ripple through me, and his grin curved into something wicked…and dangerous. “That’s what you like, isn’t it? Me telling you how good you are. My good girl.Mrs. Adler.”
I nodded helplessly, a sob catching in my throat. “I shouldn’t?—”
“Shh.” He kissed me then, gentle but sure, cutting the protest off before it could take hold. His tongue brushed mine, coaxing, not demanding, until I melted against him. When he pulled back, his hand framed my face again, his thumb stroking slow circles that made me tremble.
“You don’t need to be smaller for me,” he said firmly. “You don’t need to hide. I want it all, Ophelia. The journals, the daydreams, the obsession…every bit of it. Because it means I’m yours the same way you’re mine.”
I couldn’t breathe. The words, the praise, the touch—they surged through me, drowning out every trace of shame and leaving a hungry ache in their wake.
“I’d never thought anyone like you could exist,” he admitted, softer now, his forehead leaning against mine. “And now that I’ve met you, you’re the only thing that makes sense.”
Tears blurred my vision, but this time they weren’t from shame.
