And I do. Because I trust him.
I relax my legs, just letting myself absorb him.
I feel it all—the heat of him, his smooth skin, our breath tangling together—and everything else fades.
There’s no past.
No future.
No Fates.
No app.
Just this.
Just him.
I don’t feel uncertain.
I don’t feel afraid.
I feel wanted.
Desired.
Like every part of me—the soft parts, the strong parts, the parts I’ve hidden and the parts I’ve fought for—all of it matters.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath uneven.
“You feel so good. Like you were made just for me, weren’t you, Cookie?” he asks, voice rough but softer than before.
My heart stumbles.
Because my Bear is roaring.
My heart is reaching.
But my mind—my mind holds the line.
It has to.
Because everything else is slipping.
I cup his face, forcing him to look at me, needing him to see me—not just feel me, not just want me, but understand where I’m standing in this moment.
“Please, Rob,” I whisper, my voice softer than I intend, threaded with something that feels dangerously close to need. “I need you to move…”
Not because I don’t want him close.
God—because I do.
Because the closeness is too much and not enough all at once. Because every inch of him pressed to me makes my thoughts blur and my body ache and my heart?—
My heart starts doing things I am not ready for.
“Admit it, Hadley,” he murmurs, his voice rough, coaxing, like he’s trying to pull something deeper out of me. “Admit we’re good like this.”
The words hit somewhere deep.
