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A hint of a smile touches his lips as he stands, offering me his hand. “Fair point.”

His palm is warm against mine as he pulls me to my feet. The simple contact sends a current through my tired body, a reminder that even with everything falling apart around us, our connection remain solid. We move down the hallway in comfortable silence, his presence steady behind me.

My bedroom is the furthest from the epicenter of the dumpster disaster, and I breathe a sigh of relief when we step inside the relatively clean space. I close the door behind us, shutting out the lingering stench.

“I should probably shower,” I mutter, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look.

Oscar nods, already moving to sit on the edge of my bed. “Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.”

The bathroom offers a momentary sanctuary. Hot water cascades over my body, and I close my eyes, letting the steam loosen the knots in my shoulders. It’s a brief reprieve. I scrub hard, trying to wash away the grime of the day.

When I emerge, wrapped in a towel, Oscar is still sitting on the edge of my bed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up, his gaze flicking briefly down my body before returning—respectfully—to my face.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Marginally,” I admit, grabbing a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt from my drawer.

I don’t bother retreating to the bathroom to change. There’s no point in faking modesty—not when Oscar has already explored every inch of me. I let the towel fall, cool air raising goosebumps across my damp skin.

Oscar goes still, his phone slipping from his hand onto the mattress. His attention sharpens. I take my time, stepping into the shorts slowly before sliding them up my legs.

“You're fucking beautiful, Vesper,” he says, voice pitched low, rough at the edges. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

I grab the oversized t-shirt and pull it over my head, allowing myself a small smile when I catch his disappointed expression as the fabric falls to cover my bare torso.

“I might have some idea,” I reply, gathering my wet hair to one side, wringing out excess moisture. “Though, I could say the same about you.”

He extends a hand toward me, and I cross the small space to stand between his knees. His fingers find my hips, thumbs brushing exposed skin.

“We should sleep,” he suggests, though his touch says otherwise. “Tomorrow's going to be another long day.”

“Sleep,” I agree, even as I lean down to brush my lips against his. “Just sleep.”

Oscar pulls me closer, deepening the kiss as his touch glides up my back. The exhaustion that clung to me moments ago evaporates, replaced by a rising tension that spreads through me like a lit fuse—slow, consuming, impossible to ignore.

I push him back onto the bed, climbing over him until I’m straddling his hips. His grip tightens on my thighs, grounding me firmly over the growing hardness pressing between us.

“I thought you said we needed rest,” I tease, leaning down to nip at his lower lip.

“I’ve changed my mind.” His touch slips beneath my oversized shirt, tracing lazy patterns over bare skin. “This seems like a much better way to relieve stress.”

“Sleep is overrated.”

His fingers trail along my sides, drawing shivers that dance over my skin despite the warmth building between us. I grind against him, slow and deliberate, and he answers with a low groan that rumbles in his chest, the sound as dark and hungry as the way he’s looking at me.

“Stress relief, huh?” I murmur, lips hovering just above his. “And here I thought you just couldn’t resist me.”

Oscar cups my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with a tenderness that steals my breath. “Both can be true, solnishko.”

I lean into his touch, letting my guard down in a way I rarely allow myself. With Luca missing and danger pressing in from all sides, these moments of connection feel stolen—precious contraband.

His lips find mine again, more urgent this time. I respond in kind, pouring my frustration and fear into the kiss until it transforms into something else entirely, something hungry and alive.

Oscar sits up suddenly, keeping me in his lap as he flips our positions. My back hits the mattress, and he settles between my thighs, his comforting pressure pinning me to the bed.

“Let me take care of you.” He places kisses along my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear.

“Please,” I breathe, not caring how needy I sound. Right now, I need this—need him—more than I need sleep.