An exit.
A way out of whatever this is becoming.
"But I won't forget," he says.
I freeze.
"I'll remember every detail." His dark eyes hold mine. "The way you tasted. The sounds you made when you came on my tongue. The way your throat felt around my cock."
My breath catches.
"I'll remember the way you looked at me after." His voice cracks. Just slightly. Just enough for me to hear. "Like I was something worth looking at. Like I was still a man."
"Bruno—"
"I'll remember all of it," he cuts me off. "For the rest of my miserable fucking life. Whether you're in my bed or gone from this compound. Whether you hate me or forget I exist. I'll remember."
My chest aches.
This man.
This broken, furious, impossible man.
He doesn't know how to ask for what he wants. Doesn't know how to reach for something without expecting it to be ripped away.
So he gives me permission to leave while telling me exactly what it would cost him.
"You think your life is miserable?" I ask quietly.
"I know it is."
"Because of the wheelchair?"
His jaw tightens. "Because of everything."
"Everything," I repeat. "Including me?"
He doesn't answer.
But his eyes do.
They drop to my mouth. Linger there. Then drag back up to meet my gaze.
"You're the only thing that isn't miserable," he says. "And that's the problem."
"Why is that a problem?"
"Because I'll destroy you." His hands curl into fists on the armrests of his wheelchair. "I destroy everything I touch. Everyone I care about. It's what I do. It's who I am."
"You don't know that."
"I do." His voice hardens. "My brother is dead because of me. My family spent six months not knowing if I'd wake up. My mother cries every time she sees me in this chair. Everyone I love suffers for it."
"That wasn't your fault."
"It doesn't matter whose fault it was." He leans forward. "It matters that it happened. And it will happen again. To you. If you stay."
I should be scared.
