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“When you say you’re in this... you mean it?”

His hands still on my hips, steady and warm. “Whatever you decide—I’m here.”

My throat tightens. I swallow it down, my voice barely a breath. “What if I want to keep her?”

His mouth twitches into a crooked smile, and something unspoken passes between us.

“You already calling her a her?” he says, amused and something else—fond.

“Call it a hunch,” I murmur. “Or maybe wishful thinking.”

He leans in until our foreheads touch again, his voice low and quiet like a promise.

“Boy, girl—it’s you I want.”

My lungs seize with how badly I want to believe that. To let it be enough. To trust it. Him. Us.

I kiss him again, desperate. Claiming. Like I’m trying to write us into each other’s skin. Like maybe if I hold him hard enough, the fear won’t win.

Shirts come off in awkward, hungry tugs. I don’t even remember pulling mine over my head. I just know I’m suddenly bare, flushed, shaking slightly with adrenaline— I sit up and swing a leg over him, straddling him with a slow grind of my hips. His breath stutters. His hands tighten.

“Jesus, Katarina,” he groans. “You trying to kill me?”

“Not yet.” I bite my bottom lip. “But I wouldn’t mind watching you come close.”

The air between us thickens, all heat and tension. Every unsaid word, every buried feeling, hovers like kindling waiting for a spark.

His hands roam my ribs, my waist, gripping like he needs to convince himself I’m real. I can feel him—hard, hot, throbbing beneath me—and it only makes the ache worse.

His fingers trace the edge of my panties, slow, teasing, and I lose whatever composure I was faking.

“Fuck me,” I whisper. My voice cracks around the words.

He stops. “Are you sure?”

That moment—him asking, holding back when I’m trembling for him—it breaks something open in me. Some wall I didn’t realize I was still holding up.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I need to feel you. All of you.”

He groans, pushing his boxer's down just enough for his cock to spring free.

God.Impressive doesn't even cover it. He's built like he was designed specifically to drive me insane. I thought maybe I exaggerated it in my head.

I didn't.

My mouth goes dry, even knowing what's coming.

That same rush hits me—I should be used to this by now.

I'm absolutely not. Still unfairly perfect, still making my pulse skip.

My body remembers exactly how he fills me, stretches me, ruins me for anyone else.

“You want me to take you gently?” he asks, eyes gleaming.

I shake my head, “I want it real, filthy.”

“Say it, then. Tell me what you want.”