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And I don't stop.

I watch her break into pieces.

Not with screams or sobs. Just... slow. Inevitable. Beautiful in itssurrender.

"Still fighting?" I murmur, my voice rough against the silence between us.

She doesn't answer, but her pupils dilate, dark and hungry.

I lean in and press my mouth to hers—not quite a kiss at first, but then softening, deepening, becoming something neither of us expected. My hands cradle her face with a gentleness that surprises even me, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't noticed on her cheeks.

Her lips part beneath mine—hesitant at first, then hungrier, and there's something different this time. Not just desire, but need. Not just passion, but longing. Something that feels dangerously close to coming home.

I release her, half-expecting her to push me away, to make one last desperate attempt at resistance. But she doesn't move. Doesn't run. Instead, her arms wrap around my shoulders like she's been waiting for permission to hold on to something real, something solid in this chaos we've created.

"I've been so angry with you," she whispers against my mouth, voice breaking. "For locking me away. For thinking you could control me."

"I know," I admit, the honesty burning in my throat. "I thought I was protecting you. I didn't know how else?—"

She silences me with another kiss, deeper and more demanding than before. When she pulls back, her eyes are clear. Resolved. "I'm not something you can own, Beckett."

"No," I agree, the word feeling like freedom rather than surrender. "You're something much more dangerous."

In one fluid motion, I guide her down, laying her beneath me on the soft forest floor. I take my time now, bracing myself above her, studying her face like I'm trying to memorize every detail—not just the desire, but the vulnerability. The trust that's costing her everything to give.

"I need you," I confess, the words torn from somewhere deeper than I knew existed inside me. "Not just your body. Not just your submission. I need you. All of you."

She trembles beneath me, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes again—not from fear or pain, but from the raw honesty between us.

"I need the way you fucking look at me when you're breaking. I need the way you hold on like I'm the only thing keeping you grounded. I need the way you ruin me without even trying."

"Then take me," she whispers. "Take me as I am."

She's not just offering herself—she's daring me to survive her.

I reach down and gather her to me, our bodies aligning with an inevitability that feels like fate. Her cunt's already soaked for me, aching and open, and I sink into her slow—inch by fucking inch—like I'm carving my name into the center of her. Like her body knows it's mine and is begging to be filled. This isn't a claiming. It's a joining. A vow I didn't know I was making. A recognition of what we've become to each other.

She gasps, her body arching to meet mine, legs wrapping around my waist to draw me deeper. I move within her slowly at first, savoring every sensation, every subtle shift of her body beneath mine.

"Look at me," I command softly, needing to see her eyes when she comes apart this time.

She does, her gaze locking with mine, hiding nothing. I can see everything there—her desire, her fear, her defiance, her surrender. The complexity of what we've built between us. And when her pussy clamps down around my cock, tight and desperate, I feel that exact second she snaps—her mind breaking, her body giving in, her soul fucking mine.

"I see you," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. "Not just what you show everyone else. Not just the masks. I see you, Luna."

A sob breaks from her throat, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't hide the vulnerability. "No one's ever seen me before," she admits, her voice barely audible.

"I do," I promise, increasing the pace of my thrusts, feeling her body respond to mine with perfect synchronicity. "And I'm never looking away."

Her nails rake down my back, dragging deep enough to draw blood, and I fucking revel in it—because this? This is worship. Her pain, her pleasure, her surrender. This time, when she falls apart, it's not just her body—it's all of her. I feel her start to shake beneath me, feel her clench tight around my cock, her entire body trembling like her soul is shattering in my hands.

"Beckett," she gasps, my name a prayer on her lips. "Please?—"

She's not begging for release. She's begging for presence. For connection. For me.

I thrust deeper, finding that spot that makes her cry out, and hold her gaze like it's the only thing anchoring us to this moment.

"Let go," I whisper against her lips. "I've got you. I've always got you."