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“Let me,” he says, his voice rough with desire.

It’s not a command, not quite. But the authority in his tone sends a thrill through me. I’ve never surrendered control like this, never wanted to. With Griffin, though...

I nod, relaxing into his hold.

His smile is almost predatory as he lowers his head to my breast, taking the nipple into his mouth. His free hand slides between my legs, finding me already slick and ready for him. His groan of approval pulsates against my skin.

“Griffin,” I breathe as his fingers stroke expertly, building a pressure that has me arching off the bed. “Please...”

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, nipping gently at my collarbone.

“You,” I manage. “Inside me. Now.”

He releases my wrists, reaching for something in the bedside drawer. I hear the tear of a condom wrapper, and then he’s positioning himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine.

“Are you sure?” he asks, a final check.

In answer, I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. He sinks into me with a groan that I echo, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He sets a pace that’s just this side of too much—powerful, deep thrusts that have me seeing stars. His hand slides beneath me, angling my hips to hit a spot that makes me cry out.

“That’s it,” he growls approvingly. “Let me hear you.”

I’ve never been loud during sex, always too in my head, too concerned with control. But Griffin strips that away, driving mehigher and higher until I’m moaning with every thrust, begging incoherently.

When I finally shatter, it’s with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him in waves of pleasure so intense I think I may pass out. He follows me over the edge moments later, his rhythm faltering as he groans into my neck.

We lie tangled together afterward, catching our breath. His weight on me is grounding rather than crushing, his heartbeat a steady drum on my chest. Eventually, he rolls onto his side, pulling me against him.

“Stay,” he murmurs into my hair.

I should say no. I should go back to my cottage, back to what’s safe and familiar. But his arms feel like the safest place I’ve been in years.

“Just for tonight,” I whisper, already drifting toward sleep.

For the first time since my escape, I don’t dream of walls closing in on me.

Morning findsme warm and surprisingly well-rested. For a moment, I can’t place where I am—the bed is too soft, the room too large. Then I feel the weight of an arm around my waist and the heat of a body against my back, and the memories of last night come rushing back.

Griffin.

Oh god, what have I done?

I try to slip out of bed without waking him, but his arm tightens around me.

“Running away?” His voice is rough with sleep, his breath warm against my neck.

“I should get back before my mother worries,” I say, not turning to face him. I can feel the flush creeping up my cheeks. What happened to my self-control? My independence?

He props himself up on one elbow, gently turning me to face him. “Maya, look at me.”

Reluctantly, I meet his gaze. There’s no regret there, no awkwardness—just warmth and something deeper that I’m afraid to name.

“I don’t regret last night,” he says firmly. “Not for a second. Do you?”

The question hangs between us. Do I regret it? The sex was incredible—easily the best I’ve ever had. But it’s more than that. Something changed between us, something I’m not sure I’m ready to face.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “This is...complicated.”