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"How long?" The question came out more desperate than intended.

"Until I say. I’m in charge of when you come." The authority in his voice made me shiver, made something deep in my belly clench with want. "It won’t happen until I know you're ready."

Ready? I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or possibly combust from frustrated arousal. I'd been ready since I woke up this morning with his body pressed against mine. Ready since I'd sent those pictures. Ready since he'd walked through the door radiating controlled violence and then turned all that intensity on me.

But I could see in his eyes that this was about more than physical readiness. This was about trust, surrender, letting him lead completely. About proving I could follow his commands even when every instinct screamed to take what I wanted.

"Okay," I whispered, forcing my body to still against the mattress. "I'll wait. I'll be good."

"That's my girl." He sealed the praise with another kiss, this one softer, rewarding. "It’ll be worth it, sweetheart.”

The praise made me glow even as my body ached for more. But I kept my hands flat on the bed, didn't chase his mouth when he pulled away, didn't arch into his touches no matter how much I wanted to. I submitted to the sweet torture and trusted him to know when I'd had enough.

Time became syrup-slow and honey-thick as he continued his exploration. I lost track of how long he spent mapping my body with hands and mouth, building me up only to pull back just when I thought I'd get relief. By the time he finally paused, hovering over me with dark eyes and controlled breathing, I'd been reduced to wordless pleas and trembling limbs.

Time became meaningless. There was only sensation, need, and Tyson's steady presence controlling it all. Minutes or hours could have passed as he worked me into a state of desperation I'd never experienced before. Every nerve ending alive, every breath a plea, every heartbeat pounding his name through my veins like a prayer I couldn't stop repeating.

When his fingers finally, finally brushed where I needed them most, I nearly sobbed with relief. The touch was feather-light, barely there, but after so much denial it felt like lightning striking directly to my core.

"That's it," he encouraged, watching my face with laser focus. "Let me hear you."

I couldn't have stayed quiet if I'd tried. Sounds poured from my throat—gasps and whimpers and his name broken into syllables by need. He built the pressure slowly, still controlling every second, fingers moving in deliberate patterns that had me climbing higher with each pass.

"Look at me," he commanded when my eyes started to flutter closed. "Don't close your eyes. I want to see you."

The intensity of maintaining eye contact while he touched me like this was almost too much. Too intimate, too vulnerable, too everything. But I forced my eyes to stay locked on his, drowning in brown depths that held possession and protection in equal measure.

"So beautiful," he murmured, increasing the pressure just slightly. "Look how you respond to me. How your body knows exactly who it belongs to."

"Yours," I gasped, hips canting up to chase his touch. "Please, Tyson, I need—"

"I know, baby." His free hand caught my face, thumb stroking my cheek with devastating gentleness while his other hand continued its sweet torture. "You're being so strong. So perfect. My brave, beautiful girl."

Something shifted in his expression, decision crystallizing behind his eyes. He pulled back just long enough to shed his clothes with efficient movements, and then he was there, exactly where I needed him, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

"Please," I whispered one more time, trembling with the effort of staying still, of letting him control this moment like all the others.

He pushed inside with one smooth thrust that had us both groaning. The relief was overwhelming—not just physical but emotional, spiritual, every kind of connection firing at once. I'd been empty and now I was full, I'd been seeking and now I was found, I'd been desperate and now I was home.

"God, Lena," he breathed against my mouth, staying still for a moment to let me adjust. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Tell me," I gasped, needing the words as much as the touch. Needing to know this affected him as deeply as it affected me.

He started to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate. "You've wrecked me," he admitted, voice rough with emotion. "Completely destroyed every wall I built. I love you."

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't meant to say it, but then his jaw set with determination.

"Fuck, I love you so much it terrifies me."

The confession broke me apart. Tears spilled over, emotion and pleasure tangling together until I couldn't separate them. "I love you too," I sobbed, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. "Love you, love you, love you—"

He swallowed my words, my tears, my everything. We moved together with increasing desperation, all the teasing and denial forgotten in the face of this new truth between us. His hands found mine, fingers interlacing, pinning them beside my head as he drove deeper, harder, each thrust punctuated by whispered confessions.

"Been falling for months," he admitted against my throat. "Maybe since the first time I met you. Tried to fight it, tried to keep distance, but you just kept breaking through every defense."

"Tyson," I gasped, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion in equal measure.

"Say it again," he demanded, lifting his head to watch my face. "Need to hear it again."