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The question surprised me. "Two years ago," I answered, then caught myself. I wasn't supposed to speak.

But he smiled, that rare full smile. "Good. When I ask a direct question, you answer. Otherwise, quiet. Understand?"

I nodded, relieved to have clear rules.

"Words," he reminded me.

"I understand."

"Perfect." His fingers continued their exploration of the tattoo. "Why cherry blossoms?"

"They're about life being beautiful but short. Precious." My voice came out breathier than normal as his touch sent sparks across my skin. "Reminded me to stop waiting for someday."

"No more somedays," he agreed, and slowly, torturously slowly, slid the straps down my arms.

The dress wanted to fall, but his hands caught it at my chest, holding the fabric in place. "This is hard for you," he observed. "Keeping your hands back. I can see how much you want to touch."

God, he was right. My fingers had gone white from how hard I was clasping them together, fighting every instinct that screamed to reach for him.

"But you're doing so well," he continued, slowly lowering the fabric. "Being so good for me. Do you know what that does to me? Seeing you follow my commands even when it's difficult?"

The dress slipped lower, catching briefly on my hips. His eyes never left mine, watching my face even as he revealed my body. "It makes me want to reward you. Praise you. Take care of you in every way you'll let me."

"Please," the word slipped out before I could stop it.

"Please what?" He paused with the dress barely clinging to my hips. "Tell me what you need."

I warred with the command to stay quiet, uncertain if this counted as a direct question. He noticed, because of course he did.

"You can speak," he clarified. "Tell me."

"I need you to touch me," I admitted. "Really touch me. Not just these teasing little brushes."

"Hmm." He pretended to consider this while his fingers drew patterns on my hips, just above where the dress clung. "But I liketeasing you. Like watching you tremble. Like knowing how wet you are without me even properly touching you yet."

Heat flooded my face because he was right. I was embarrassingly, desperately wet just from his commands and feather-light touches.

"Soon," he promised, voice dropping to that register that made my insides liquid. "But first, we do this right. I’m in control."

True to his word, he took his time. The dress slipped lower with agonizing slowness, his knuckles grazing my skin as he guided the fabric over my hips. Each inch revealed was accompanied by his focused attention, like he was memorizing every detail. When the dress finally pooled at my feet in a puddle of black fabric and rebellion, I stood before him in nothing but combat boots and vulnerability.

The cool air raised goosebumps across my skin, but it was his gaze that made me shiver. He looked at me like I was art. Like I was something precious and dangerous all at once. His eyes tracked over every curve, every tattoo, every imperfection, and somehow made me feel more beautiful than I'd ever felt in my life.

"Fucking gorgeous," he murmured, the curse slipping out like he couldn't help himself. "Know what I thought the first time I saw you?"

I shook my head, still following his no-speaking rule even though my throat ached with words I wanted to say.

"Thought 'there's trouble.'" His hands skimmed my sides, never quite touching where I desperately needed, just close enough to make my skin sing with anticipation. "All that purple hair and attitude. Those deadly eyes that looked right through me like you could see every secret I've ever kept."

He leaned close, breath hot against my ear. "Knew you'd wreck me. Knew it the second you opened your mouth and gave me shit about being too serious. Nobody talks to me like that. Nobodychallenges me. But you?" He pulled back to meet my eyes. "You looked at the tactical officer of the Heavy Kings and decided to poke the bear."

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I was right," he continued, voice dropping to that gravelly register that did things to my insides. "You wrecked me completely. Made me want things I'd sworn off. Made me risk everything just to taste your mouth."

"Tyson," I breathed, forgetting the rules entirely.

"Shh." He pressed a finger to my lips. "My turn to talk. Your turn to listen."