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My breath catches as understanding dawns:This is where he slept with Elena.

This is the bed they shared. The room where his wife once lived, once laughed, once loved him… I feel like an intruder here. The air itself feels bottled up, containing memories I have no right to witness.

He hasn’t set foot in here in eighteen years.

And he’s chosen to bringme.

Here of all places.

Now of all times.

Lukas lowers me tenderly onto the mattress. The bed sighs beneath us, old springs groaning softly at being disturbed after so long.

I look up at him. This must mean something to him, but his eyes are dark and unreadable.

“Lukas,” I whisper, “this room?—”

“I know,” he whispers back. “I know what it is.”

He hovers above me, one knee braced on the mattress, the other foot still planted on the floor. Like he’s not quite committed. Some part of him is still deciding whether to stay or flee.

“Then why?” I reach up and follow the hard line of his jaw, feeling the rasp of his silver beard against my fingertips. “Why bring me here?”

Lukas turns his face into my palm and presses a kiss there. “Because I’m done running from phantoms.”

He kneels between my thighs. Even when crouched like that, he still towers over me, fearsome in every way.

“May I?” He touches the top button of my blouse.

After a beat of hesitation, I nod silently.

He works the button free, then pauses. Waits. His eyes find mine again, asking permission for the next one.

I nod again.

Button by button, question by question, he undresses me. Each time, he asks,May I unhook this? May I slide this down?, and each time, he waits for my nod before continuing.

My shirt falls away. My bra. Then my skirt. Then everything else.

When I’m finally bare beneath him, he’s still fully clothed. The contrast makes me shiver. It’s his suit against my naked skin,his control against my vulnerability. His everything against my nothing.

He lays me back on the bed, then settles his weight over me, bracing himself on his forearms so he doesn’t crush me. One hand comes up to cradle my face.

“Are you certain you’re ready?” he asks.

In answer, I arch up and kiss him as hard as I can.

With that, Lukas’s careful restraint shatters.

His tongue claims my mouth while one massive hand tangles in my hair and the other manhandles my hip. It’s a war, lips to lips, clashing and clanging, messy and hopeful all at once. When he finally pulls back, we’re both gasping.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispers against my lips. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just breathe.”

He kisses away tears I didn’t know I was crying. When did that happen? I’m a mess beneath him, shaking, wet-cheeked, and desperate, and he’s looking at me like nothing has ever been less pathetic or more beautiful.

“We’re going to go slow,” he tells me. “I’m going to learn every inch of you first. Teach your body what pleasure feels like before I take anything from you. Do you understand?”

I nod, still trembling.