Page 37

I close my eyes, tears spilling over.

"But I don't want to walk away," I say, opening my eyes and meeting his gaze. "I want to try. I want to see if we can make this work."

I take a breath.

"I need you to understand something," I say. "What we had in that hotel room—the way you touched me, the way you talked to me, the way you made me feel—I don't want to erase that. I liked the confidence. I liked the praise. I liked the way you asked for consent and paid attention to what I needed. I liked feeling safe and desired and understood."

Brock's eyes darken, but he doesn't move.

"But those things can only continue if they're honest," I say. "If they're part of a real relationship, not a fantasy. If they're something we choose together, not something you use to avoid difficult conversations."

I pause, my voice shaking.

"I liked the nickname," I admit, my cheeks flushing. "I liked the way it made me feel. But it's our private language. It's something I choose to give you, not something you take. And it doesn't replace honesty. It doesn't replace trust."

Brock nods slowly.

"Do you still want that?" he asks quietly. "The nickname. The dynamic. Do you still want me to⁠—"

"Yes," I say, cutting him off. "But only when I choose it. Only when we're both honest about what it means."

"Understood," Brock says, his voice rough. "And I will never use it to avoid accountability. I will never use it to manipulate you. It's yours to give or take away."

I nod, my heart pounding.

"Okay," I say. "Then let's try."

Brock's expression shifts—relief, hunger, something deeper.

I stand up, cross the space between us, and kiss him.

Brock freezes for a moment, as if he can't believe I'm choosing this. Then his hands come up to cup my face, and he kisses me back with a hunger that makes my knees weak.

I pull back just enough to look at him.

"No more lies," I whisper. "No more secrets between us."

"No more lies," Brock agrees. "No more secrets."

"And we're careful. We're discreet. We protect Kayla and my job."

"Absolutely."

I nod, my heart pounding.

"Okay," I say. "Then let's try."

Brock's eyes darken. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I'm sure."

And then his mouth is on mine again.

The kiss is different this time. No masks. No pretense. No anonymity. Just Brock and me, fully aware of who we are and what we're risking. His hands cup my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears as his mouth moves over mine with a hunger that makes my knees weak.

I kiss him back just as desperately, my fingers tangling in his sweater, pulling him closer.

"Megan," he breathes against my lips. "If you want to stop—at any point—you tell me."