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What do I want?

To keep her safe. To keep her close. To keep her mine.

“Nothing you’re not willing to give,” I say in a low voice, the edge in it softer than I intend.

“And if I am?”

She doesn’t look away, and neither do I.

I should move back. I should put some space between us before this goes any further. But she’s already too close, and I’m not sure I want the distance anymore.

Her scent—something faintly floral mixed with the rain—wraps around me, clouding my judgment and suffocating the logic I’m trying to cling to. My pulse pounds in my ears, a deafening rhythm that matches the storm brewing in my chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks again, her voice trembling, though not from fear.

“Because I can’t stop,” I answer.

The words slip out raw, unguarded, and they hang between us like a gauntlet thrown down. A challenge.

And for a heartbeat, I wonder if she’ll pick it up.

She’s the first to break. Her lips part, her breath shallow, and in that moment, I’m lost.

I move before I can think better of it, closing the space between us in one deliberate motion. My hand finds her jaw, my rough fingertips brushing against her soft skin. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, she tilts her head just slightly as if inviting me closer.

Her lips are soft when they meet mine, a hesitant brush that ignites something primal in me. It’s tentative at first, but the moment she doesn’t pull back, I deepen the kiss.

She tastes like uncertainty and something sweeter, something intoxicating. My free hand moves to the small of her back, pulling her closer as the world around us falls away.

The kiss is dominating—firm, possessive—as though I can’t help myself, as though she’s the only thing tethering me to this moment, to this need.

She makes a sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I want more—more of her, more of this—but I force myself to pull back just enough to meet her stare.

Her hazel eyes are wide, her lips swollen and parted, and there’s something unreadable in her expression.

“Why did you do that?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

My thumb brushes against her jawline, a ghost of a touch. “Because I couldn’t not.”

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t move away, either. And for the first time in a long time, the silence doesn’t feel suffocating.

“I want to give you something,” I murmur, my voice rough with desire.

I reach into my bedside table and pull out a .22 caliber handgun, the cold metal smooth against my fingertips. Theserial number’s scratched off, deliberately, and I hold it out to her.

“It’ll be easy for you to handle. No problem for a first-time shooter. Just point and shoot.”

She looks at the gun, then at me, and shakes her head, her brows furrowing in defiance. “I’m not interested.”

I keep my stare steady, not giving in. “What happened to you…what they did to you can’t happen again. I need to be sure you have some sort of last resort on you. My men will never leave your side, but I need you to take this.” Her chest rises and falls, and I can see the war behind her eyes. I lean in closer. “You need to protect yourself. I might not always be there. You understand that, right?”

Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the gun, her fingers brushing against the cold metal. The hesitation in her eyes is clear, the weight of what I’m asking her to accept sinking in. After what feels like an eternity, she nods, her grip tightening around the weapon.

“Good,” I mutter rising up from the bed, satisfied that she’s finally relented.

I move toward the door, my hand brushing the handle, ready to leave her to wrestle with the new reality I’ve forced on her. But her voice stops me.