Page 335 of Mad Girl

I lifted my gaze, swallowing hard at what I saw in yours: fear, concern, awe.

“Talk to me,” you said, rougher this time, picking up your pace.

“Oh my God,” I said. “Always with the talking.”

You gave a breathless laugh—half relief, half burning need. “Then say something,” you murmured, nose brushing mine. “Anything. I need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I whispered, lifting my hand to your face. You nipped at the pad of my thumb. “I’m here.”

You hiked my leg up, driving yourself deeper. Your breath caught, voice breaking as you whispered, “I want all of you.”

“You have me,” I said, already giving in. Already gone.

“Say it,” you rasped, holding my gaze.

“Say what?”

Your hand tightened around my thigh. “That you’re mine,” you said, giving a sharp thrust. “All mine.”

I gasped, fingers digging into your back. I felt the shake in my own body, the trembling need, the sheer devastation of it. The realization that I wanted this, fully and recklessly, no matter the cost. “I’m yours.”

Your lips grazed my jaw, my chin, my mouth. When you spoke again, the plea in your voice wrecked me. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.” A promise.

You stilled, chest heaving against mine. Then you lifted up, cupped my face, and skimmed the corner of my mouth with your thumb. “Mine.”

A confirmation. A claim. A quiet, unshakable truth.

And when you kissed me again—slow, deep, lingering—I felt it there, too. The certainty. The devotion. The hushed reverence of someone who wanted me all to himself, despite that dark thing I’d given you.

“You know I’ll hold you to that, right?” you said, lightly thrusting again.

“Or maybe it’ll be the other way around,” I said breathlessly, moving with you.

A chuckle, low and warm against my ear. “You? Fighting to convince me? Hell would have to freeze over.”

Well, look at that, Casey. There’s a rare freeze in the forecast after all.

You shifted onto your back, guiding me carefully on top of you, keeping us connected the whole way.

I hesitated to move—unsure, nervous, afraid of doing something wrong—while you waited, hands curling around my hips, thumbs pressing into bone.

“Don’t overthink it,” you said, gently rocking me. “Get out of your head. It’s just you and me. Let go.”

So I did—slowly, tentatively—bracing my hands on your chest. While I found a steady rhythm, you quickly unraveled. Hands dragging higher, gripping me all over. Gaze growing hungrier, needier, more desperate. Whispered curses slipping from your lips. You’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t—God, look at you. Jesus. Fuck.

Watching you come apart unraveled me, too—but not in the same way. Your unraveling looked like desire. Mine felt like fear.

Because wanting, for me, usually led to losing. When I failed to be what someone really wanted, they walked away.

So I ducked my head and kissed your neck, tasting your skin until it soothed the burning fear in my chest.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment a thousand times,” you said against my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin, your fingers tangled in my hair. “It never came close to this.”

“You’re just saying that,” I said against your throat.

You instantly pushed me back. “Don’t,” you said, like I’d touched something I shouldn’t have. Like truths were meant to be revealed here, and I’d brushed aside one of yours. Like you were really saying, Don’t take this away from me.