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"Tyson," I whispered, overwhelmed by the tenderness beneath the dominance.

"I've got you," he promised. "Always going to have you."

What followed was a master class in controlled intensity. Tyson approached my body like he was studying for the most important test of his life, cataloguing every gasp, every shiver, every helpless sound I made. His mouth traced a path from my throat to my collarbone, pausing to lavish attention on spots I didn't even know were sensitive.

When his lips found the underside of my breast, I arched hard enough to lift us both. He made a pleased sound, filing that reaction away before continuing his exploration. His tongue circled one nipple with devastating patience while his thumb brushed over the other, creating a rhythm that had me squirming beneath him.

"Still," he commanded softly, and I forced myself to stop moving even though every nerve screamed for more friction, more pressure, more everything.

"Good girl," he praised, and rewarded me by taking my nipple fully into his mouth, sucking with just enough pressure to make me see stars.

My hands flew to his hair without thinking, needing to anchor myself. He allowed it for a moment, letting me clutch at him while he switched to the other breast, giving it the same thorough attention. Then he caught my wrists, one in each hand, and slowly raised them above my head.

The position made me feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that should have been scary but wasn't. Not with him. His grip was firm but not painful, and I knew without testing that he'd release me instantly if I asked.

"I bet you can't hold both my wrists with just one—oh."

He could. He definitely could. His hand easily encircled both my wrists, holding them secure against the pillow while his other hand was now free to roam. The casual display of strength made heat pool low in my belly.

"You were saying?" Amusement colored his voice as his free hand traced patterns on my skin that made coherent thought impossible—spirals around my breasts, feather-light touches down my ribs, teasing circles on my inner thighs that never quite reached where I needed.

"I was saying you're very . . . capable," I managed between gasps. “The way you look at me, the way you—oh god, right there—"

He'd found that spot, the one that made my whole body light up, and was circling it with maddening gentleness. Not enough pressure to satisfy, just enough to drive me slowly insane.

"The way I what?" he prompted, adding just a fraction more pressure.

"The way you make me feel safe enough to let go," I admitted, the words tumbling out unfiltered.

He released my wrists to frame my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. The intensity there stole my breath.

"You are safe," he said firmly. "Always. I've got you."

"I know," I whispered, and meant it completely.

"Show me," he commanded softly, hand sliding back down my body with new purpose. "Show me what letting go looks like."

This time when his fingers found me, there was no teasing. He touched me like he'd mapped my responses and knew exactly what I needed. Firm, steady pressure in just the right spot while his mouth claimed mine, swallowing the sounds I couldn't contain.

I did let go. Completely. My hands clutched at his shoulders, nails probably leaving marks, but he just growledencouragement against my mouth. My hips moved without my permission, chasing the pleasure he was building with patient expertise.

His fingers slipped between my folds, finding the wet heat at my core. I gasped into his mouth as he circled my entrance with a light touch before sliding two fingers deep inside me. My body clenched around him, a shock of pleasure ripping through me at the sudden invasion. "So wet," he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with approval. "So ready for me." I couldn't respond, couldn't do anything but feel as he began to move his fingers in a steady rhythm, curling them slightly to hit a spot that made my vision blur. His thumb found my clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks of electricity shooting through my nerves. "Tyson," I choked out, tearing my mouth from his to gulp in air. "Oh god, please—" "That's it," he coaxed, his voice low and steady.

His words were almost as devastating as his touch. The combination of physical pleasure and emotional intensity was overwhelming. I felt myself climbing higher, chasing that edge, and some part of me panicked at the vulnerability of it.

"I've got you," he said again, reading my hesitation instantly. "Let go, baby. I'll catch you."

And I believed him. Trusted him.

His fingers moved faster, the rhythm on my clit intensifying as he read my body's responses with expert precision. The pleasure sharpened, coiling tighter in my core, pushing me closer to that edge where thought ceased and sensation took over. My hips matched his pace, grinding against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"That's it," he murmured, voice rough with approval. "Chase it, Lena. Take what you need."

I was close, so close. My breath hitched, every muscle tensing as I climbed higher, reached for that peak just out of grasp.His fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that sent sparks shooting through my nerves. The combination of his touch inside and out was overwhelming, a dual assault on my senses that left me gasping.

When the waves crashed over me, I didn't try to hold back or stay quiet or maintain any control at all. I shattered in his arms, crying out his name, and he held me through it all. His touch gentled but didn't stop, drawing out the pleasure until I was trembling and oversensitive.

“We’re not done,” he growled. “Not even close.”