Page 17

17

S unlight streams through the cabin's massive windows, warming my face and pulling me from a deep, heavy sleep. Sterling's massive arm is draped over my waist, anchoring me against him, his breathing slow and even against the back of my neck. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 11:37—later than I've slept in months. I shift slightly, and Sterling's arm tightens instinctively, holding me closer even as he stirs awake.

"Morning," he rumbles, voice rough and raw from sleep in a way that still sends shivers straight down my spine.

"Technically almost afternoon," I murmur, turning to face him.

His amber eyes are soft with affection, his fur adorably rumpled. It's these moments—seeing the carefully controlled businessman stripped down to something vulnerable and real—that still undo me completely.

"Hungry?" Sterling asks, stretching his massive frame, the mattress dipping and groaning beneath him.

"Starving," I admit, suddenly aware of the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. "But I don't feel like getting dressed and going out."

Sterling reaches lazily for his phone. "I'll order in, then."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we're feasting on an obscene spread delivered discreetly to the door—fluffy omelets, buttery pastries still warm from the oven, fresh fruit that bursts sweet on the tongue, coffee strong enough to resurrect the dead.

"Open," Sterling says, holding out a strawberry between his thick fingers. I comply, letting him place it against my lips, his touch lingering just a second too long, a tease disguised as casual affection.

"Your turn," I say, plucking a piece of melon, holding it out. Sterling leans forward and takes it directly from my fingers, his teeth grazing my skin deliberately enough to make my breath catch.

The meal unfolds like that—playful, intimate, punctuated with quiet laughter and lazy conversation. We talk about nothing—the strange bird we spotted yesterday, Marina's latest round of office romance speculation, whether minotaur cuisine differs from human food traditions.

But beneath the surface, tension hums. Every accidental brush of hands, every glance that lingers a beat too long, every shift that reminds me of the way Sterling's body felt under mine yesterday, the way his knot will feel inside me today—it all builds, heavy and inevitable.

"Shower?" Sterling suggests casually as he drains the last of his coffee. His tone is light, but his eyes have darkened noticeably.

I nod, blood already starting to thrum faster in my veins, and follow him to the massive bathroom.

The shower is palatial even by minotaur standards—glass walls, multiple heads spraying hot water from every direction, a wide stone bench built into one side. Sterling adjusts the temperature, stepping back to let me enter first. The hot spray hits my skin and I groan softly, tilting my face up into it, letting the tension start to melt away.

When I open my eyes again, Sterling is watching me.

Not politely. Not casually.

Hunger, naked and unhidden, blazes in his gaze. He stands in the doorway, massive and still, the sight of him blocking most of the light, making him seem even larger.

"Let me," he says, reaching for the soap.

I nod, throat too dry to speak.

Sterling steps into the shower behind me, the space somehow shrinking under the sheer force of his presence. He works the lather over my shoulders first, his massive hands achingly gentle, massaging the suds into my skin like I'm something precious, something breakable.

He takes his time, slow and methodical—across my chest, down my arms, around to my back. When his fingers slide lower, lathering my hips, my thighs, my ass, I can't stop the sharp intake of breath. Sterling hums approvingly, fingertips teasing without rushing, without expectation, building a slow, simmering heat in my core.

When he turns me under the spray to rinse away the soap, I'm already half-hard, my cock stirring helplessly just from his hands, his attention. When I glance down, Sterling's own arousal is unmistakable—even half-hard, he's impressive, thick and heavy between his powerful thighs.

"My turn," I say, voice rough as I take the soap from his hands.

Sterling rumbles his approval, tilting his head back under the water, baring himself to me completely. I work the lather into his thick fur, paying reverent attention to the places I know he's sensitive—the base of his horns, the hollow of his throat, the faint line where fur gives way to bare, smoother skin along his lower abdomen. He shudders slightly under my hands, not from cold—but from the simple, overwhelming act of being touched. Of being cared for.

By the time I'm kneeling at his feet, steam curling around us like a living thing, we've dropped every last pretense that this was about getting clean. Sterling's cock is fully, gloriously hard, brushing against my cheek, my shoulder, heavy and hot, like he's daring me to acknowledge it. Like he knows I'm already aching for him.

When I finally give in—wrapping both hands around the thick, velvet heat of him—he groans, the sound ripping out of him raw, echoing off the shower walls like a thunderclap. I lap up the drop of precum with my tongue, my eyes rolling back as his taste explodes in my mouth, white hot need racing along my nerve endings.

"I need you, Sterling," I rasp, looking up at him through the swirling haze of steam, voice wrecked and begging. "Here. Now."

His face tightens—desire crashing against caution—but it only takes a beat before he's reaching for the waterproof lube we'd stashed on the caddy like two idiots pretending we wouldn't end up here. "Turn around," he growls, voice so deep it vibrates straight down my spine. "Hands on the wall."

My whole body shudders at the command. I obey instantly, palms flattening against the slick tile, the hot spray pounding against my shoulders while Sterling moves behind me—solid, inevitable. When his fingers press against me—slick, sure, devastating—I gasp, rocking back instinctively. One finger. Then two. Then three—working me open with a brutal patience that borders on cruelty.

"Good," he mutters, low and rough, like gravel dragged across silk. "So fucking good for me."

By the time he pulls his fingers free, I'm shaking—empty, desperate, my whole body vibrating with the need to be filled again. And then—the blunt, demanding head of his cock presses against me, thick and unyielding, a slow, merciless threat. He pushes into me with excruciating slowness, and my fingernails scrape helplessly against the tile. Every inch feels like a brand, a stretch so intense it has my whole body clenching, burning, breaking open around him.

"Breathe," he reminds me, dragging a huge, steadying hand down the curve of my spine. "Relax."

Easy for him to say. I'm split open around him, trembling, my vision sparking at the edges from the sheer overwhelming pressure—from the way he fills me, stretches me, leaves no room for anything but him. When he's halfway inside, I can't stop myself—I shove back, desperate, reckless, needing more, needing all of him.

Sterling hisses through his teeth, his hands clamping down hard on my hips, so tight I know I'll feel the bruises tomorrow. "Careful," he grits out, voice so wrecked it barely sounds human.

"You feel so fucking good," I pant, shameless and gone. "More. Please, Sterling. Please."

His self-control is terrifying—a brutal, beautiful thing. He gives me another inch, then sets a rhythm that's maddening—shallow thrusts that tease and torment, keeping me strung out, trembling, desperate, every nerve screaming for more. I try to push back again but Sterling stops me still with a low, guttural growl that rolls through my body like thunder, making my knees almost buckle.

"Patience," he snarls, voice shredded and shaking. "You'll take it all when you're ready. Not a second before."

I can feel it happening—the thick base of him swelling slowly, the beginnings of the knot taking shape deep inside me. My heart slams against my ribs, panic and desire warring in my blood. My whole body throbs with the need to be claimed, to be locked, to be owned so deeply there's no going back. But Sterling curses under his breath—a raw, vicious sound—and pulls out, the sudden emptiness so sharp it almost rips a sob from my throat.

"Too close," he rasps, bracing one hand against the wall, his other hand fisting the base of his cock. "Can't risk it."

Before I can beg—because I would, dignity be damned—he spins me around and crushes his mouth to mine, all teeth and tongue and furious restraint snapping. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, pinning me between his body and the wall, my legs locking around his hips on instinct.

"Hold on," he growls, guiding himself back inside me in one powerful, devastating thrust that punches the air from my lungs but stops just short of what I need the most.

This angle—God, this angle—lets him control everything. He slams into that sweet, shattering spot inside me with relentless precision, fucking me with a raw, feral need that rips the moans from my throat.

"Sterling, I need all of you," I gasp, wrecked and begging without even knowing what I'm begging for.

He presses his forehead against mine, breathing raggedly, fucking me deep, fucking me sure.

"Look at you," he growls, voice vibrating against my mouth. "Taking my cock so goddamn perfectly. You were made for this. Made for me."

The words—his words—shatter something inside me. I feel myself tightening, teetering right on the edge. He knows. Of course he knows. He wraps one big hand around my cock, stroking in ruthless counterpoint to his thrusts, then squeezes—just enough to hold me back.

"Not yet," he snarls, voice guttural, almost broken with how close he is. "Not fucking yet." He braces his forehead against my shoulder, his whole body trembling, fighting for control. "I want you to come with me," he growls, grinding deep, slow circles inside me. "I want to feel you squeezing down around my knot—tight, desperate, milking me while I'm locked inside you." His voice drops, raw and filthy, like he's painting a picture just for me. "I want to feel you fall apart with my cock buried so deep you can't tell where you end and I begin. I want to feel your tight little ass fluttering around me—so sweet, so fucking wrecked it'll feel like heaven when I split you open and stuff you full."

He thrusts shallowly, making me sob, making me tremble on the edge.

"You're gonna make me come so deep you'll feel it for days," he snarls against my throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark. "Gonna knot you so tight you won't even think about anyone else. Only me. Only this."

It takes everything in me not to sob with frustration when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness so sharp it leaves me gasping. He lowers me carefully—almost tenderly—back onto my shaky feet, but the wild, feral burn in his amber eyes promises this isn't over.

Not even close.

He shuts off the water with a sharp twist of his wrist, grabbing towels with hands that tremble around the edges—not from fear. Not from hesitation. From the sheer, brutal effort of holding himself back. And he never once takes his eyes off me. Not for a second.

We towel each other dry with the urgency of two people seconds from combusting, hands slipping, fumbling, neither of us caring about thoroughness. Sterling's knot has faded enough not to be dangerous yet, but his cock is still massive and angry hard, curving up against the thick planes of his stomach, the sight alone making my mouth dry out.

I'm still dragging the towel through my hair when Sterling presses into me, steering me backward with a single-mindedness that leaves no room for doubt. He herds me out of the bathroom, across the cool wood floors of the bedroom, straight toward the giant wall of windows overlooking nothing but wild, untamed forest.

The glass is ice against my bare back, the shocking cold making me gasp—and Sterling's heat pressing against my front nearly buckles my knees. He spins me roughly to face the window, crowding against me, massive chest to my back, kicking my legs apart with a grunt of satisfaction.

"Sterling—" I gasp, heart hammering, the sudden exposure making adrenaline spike through my veins. "Someone could?—"

"No one for miles," he cuts me off, voice dark and sure, one hand already gripping my hip, the other reaching between us.

I feel him spit—rough, crude, feral—and for a moment, shock roots me to the spot. Sterling, always meticulous, careful... gone. Stripped down to instinct. To need. And then he's pushing inside me—deep, deliberate, greedy—and my hands slap against the glass, searching for purchase as my whole body lurches forward from the force of it.

"Fuck," I pant, forehead thudding against the cold window, the burn and stretch sending sparks through my bloodstream.

"Mine," Sterling snarls against my ear, grinding deeper, setting a brutal rhythm that has my cock dragging against the glass with every thrust, the sensation dizzying, devastating. "Waited too long for this. Too fucking long."

His words come in a low, relentless stream now—dirty, possessive, wrecked—things I've never heard fall from his mouth before, promises about how deep he'll fuck me, how many times he'll make me come, how good I feel split open around him.

It's messy and rough and so desperately, achingly tender that it makes my chest squeeze painfully tight. I'm seconds away from falling apart, untouched and grinding against the window, when Sterling yanks out, spinning me with a snarl of frustration and hunger.

I barely catch my breath before he drops to his knees in front of me—Sterling, proud and powerful, on his goddamn knees—and swallows my cock like it's the only thing he's ever wanted. I choke on a broken moan, fingers tangling helplessly in the thick fur of his hair, trying and failing not to fuck his mouth.

"Sterling—" I rasp, hips jerking, desperate. "Close?—"

He pulls back just in time, lips swollen, chest heaving. His hands, those massive hands, frame my thighs like a brand.

"Not yet," he growls, voice so wrecked it barely sounds human. "I want you to come when I'm locked inside you. When there's no fucking escape."

I nearly come from those words alone.

Sterling stands and backs toward the bed, lying down with a controlled grace that does nothing to hide the raw need in his body. His cock stands proud against his stomach, thick and pulsing, slick with desire.

He sprawls across the bed like a king—waiting, offering everything—and looks at me like I'm the only thing he's ever needed.

"Your choice," he says hoarsely, amber eyes burning into mine. "Your pace. Your control."

This—this—is what we talked about yesterday. Me on top. Me choosing how much to take. Me deciding if I can handle it when his knot swells. The air between us vibrates with electricity. With trust. With want so thick it's almost unbearable.

I grab the lube from the nightstand, squeezing a generous amount into my palm. I warm it between my hands—God help me, I want this to be good for us—and smooth it over his cock in long, tight strokes. Sterling's jaw clenches. His whole body tenses, muscles bunching and flexing under his skin, his hands fisting the sheets. I crawl onto the bed, straddling his hips, heart hammering so hard I can hear it over my own ragged breathing.

"Watch me," I command, voice shaking but certain, locking my gaze to his. "Watch me take all of you."

His answering growl is pure, molten hunger.

As I line myself up, bracing my hands on his chest, I realize—this is it. This is the moment I stop surviving him and start claiming him right back. I lower myself onto him slowly, fighting every instinct that screams for more, faster, now. The broad head of his cock presses against my entrance—and when it breaches me, the gasp that punches from my lungs matches the broken sound that rips from Sterling's chest, like we're already tied together at the soul and just now realizing it.

The position gives me the reins—my choice, my pace, my pain and pleasure—and I cling to that fragile thread of control like it's the only thing keeping me from disintegrating. Another inch. And another. Each brutal stretch sharp and sweet, burning through me until my whole body feels like it's vibrating apart.

"Beautiful," Sterling rasps, voice shredded with need, his massive hands bracketing my hips—not pushing, not pulling—just there, steady, shaking, mine. "You're perfect, baby. So fucking perfect for me."

Every word brands itself into my skin. I take him deeper, trembling, the new angle letting me adjust—but still, he's almost too much. Stretching me wider than I thought possible, forcing my body to learn him in real time, nerve ending by nerve ending.

And then I feel it. The beginning swell of his knot, thickening at the base of his cock, pressing against me with slow, merciless insistence. The fullness makes my head spin. My body clenches down around him reflexively, desperate and panicked and starving all at once. I freeze, breathing hard, the edge of pain and pleasure blurring into something that feels holy.

"We can stop here," Sterling offers, voice raw, barely restrained, like it's killing him to even say the words. "This is already?—"

"No," I cut him off, shaking, fierce, riding the edge of sanity. "I want all of you. Want your knot. Want you locked inside me. Want you to lose control."

The sound he makes is half-snarl, half-plea, ripping out of him like it physically hurts to hold back. His grip tightens around my hips—just the slightest warning—but he doesn't force me. He lets me choose. I start moving, shallow, deliberate rolls of my hips, working myself down on him inch by brutal inch, dragging him deeper into my body until the stretch feels like it's going to tear me apart.

Sterling watches me like he's starving—like he's memorizing every flicker of pleasure, every shattered gasp, every desperate shudder that crosses my face.

"That's it," he murmurs, voice sinking so low it feels like it vibrates inside my bones. "Working yourself open for me. Stretching that tight little hole around my cock. Taking what you need."

Each filthy word cuts through the fog in my head, sharpening everything, fanning the fire burning under my skin hotter, brighter. When the widest part of his knot starts to breach me, the stretch rips a strangled cry from my throat—brutal, overwhelming, hovering right at the jagged edge of too much.

"Breathe," Sterling soothes, wrapping one massive hand around my leaking cock with devastating gentleness. "Relax for me. Let your body open up and take what's meant for you. You can do this, Hank. You were made for this."

I cling to the feeling of his hand—pleasure and grounding and ownership all at once—and focus on the slow, aching slide of him inside me. My body fights it. Then it yields. The knot slips inside in one long, impossible, world-ending moment, and I collapse against his chest, stunned and shaking, locked around him so tightly I can't tell where he ends and I begin.

Sterling lets out a roar of pure, broken pleasure, burying his face against my throat, his breath coming in wrecked, desperate gasps. "Fuck—so good—so fucking perfect—" he growls, voice torn from somewhere deep and primal as his knot grows to its full size, locking inside me like a brand, a bond, a fucking claim.

"Don't move," I gasp, overwhelmed, muscles fluttering helplessly around the obscene stretch. "Just—just give me a second?—"

Sterling trembles under me with the effort of staying still, his arms locked around me like a vice, his hand still stroking me with slow, reverent pressure, keeping me tethered when everything inside me feels like it's about to detonate.

Little by little, the shock fades—and then I start to move. Not up, not off—because that's impossible now. But tiny, grinding rocks of my hips, squeezing and massaging his knot with every desperate shift.

Every tiny movement wrecks me. Pleasure crashes through my body in wild, helpless bolts, the knot grinding mercilessly against my prostate until I'm shaking, gasping, my vision sparking at the edges.

"Fuck," Sterling growls, voice wrecked and shaking, his hips fighting not to rut up into me. "You're milking my knot—squeezing me so fucking tight it feels like you're gonna rip the come right out of my balls."

His praise slams into me harder than any thrust. I lose myself in it—moving faster, grinding harder, desperate for more, chasing the edge like it's the only thing keeping me alive.

"Mine," Sterling snarls, crashing his mouth against mine in a brutal, claiming kiss—teeth scraping, tongue fucking into me like he owns every breath I take. "Taking my knot like you were fucking built for it—made to lock around me, trap me inside you, milk me dry until there's nothing left but you and this."

"Sterling—" I gasp, riding him in wild, helpless jerks, my body barely able to process the heat, the pressure, the stretch, the obscene fullness locking us together. "I'm—I'm gonna?—"

"Yes," he snarls against my mouth, thrusting up into me as much as the swollen knot will allow, every desperate flex driving him deeper, tighter. "Come for me, Hank. Own me."

The filthy promise rips through me—and I detonate. I come with a hoarse, broken sob, my whole body convulsing violently, helplessly, hot ropes of release painting Sterling's chest and stomach and my own belly, each pulse ripped out of me by the relentless, choking grip of his knot grinding against my prostate. The pleasure is endless—merciless—electrifying every nerve in my body, setting my skin on fire.

I can't stop.

Each spasm clenches around the thick base of him, squeezing down tighter, dragging shattered groans from Sterling's throat, making his huge body jolt under me like he's being electrocuted by my climax.

"Fuck—" Sterling gasps, voice wrecked and breaking apart, his arms snapping around me like a trap. "So fucking tight—gripping my knot like you're trying to rip my soul out—gonna fill you so deep you'll never get me out."

He breaks with a roar that sounds like it could tear the world apart. His hips jerk up wildly, slamming deep inside me, and then—he's coming. Violent, endless spurts of molten heat flood me, so much I can feel it forcing its way around the brutal seal of his knot, slicking my thighs, dripping down between us.

He keeps coming—longer, harder than anything I've ever felt—his cock jerking helplessly inside me, locked so deep I can feel every pulse, every twitch, every desperate overflow.

And it wrecks me all over again.

Another orgasm crashes through me without warning—white-hot, violent, tearing a wrecked, broken sob from my throat as my cock twitches against his chest, releasing weak spurts over skin already slick with sweat and cum.

I can't think. Can't breathe. Can only feel?—

The deep, endless pulses inside me. The brutal, perfect stretch of the knot locking us together. The low, guttural sounds Sterling makes against my neck, broken, helpless, wrecked beyond words. His whole body shakes under me, huge hands clinging to my hips like if he lets go for even a second, he'll die.

"That's it," he rasps against my temple, voice shaking so bad the words barely make it out. "Take it all. Fucking take it, sweetheart. Knot's locked. You're mine now. Nothing's ever getting me out of you." His cock throbs again—another heavy, desperate spurt—and it feels so deep, so full, so impossibly right that I whimper, clutching at his shoulders, grinding down against him instinctively, chasing every last aftershock.

Our bodies are locked together in the thick, sticky wreckage of it—sweat and cum and heat smeared between us, leaking out of me in obscene, hot rivers.

I'm trembling so hard I can barely hold myself up.

Sterling wraps his arms around me, dragging me tight against his chest, burying his face in my throat, breathing like he's just survived drowning. We stay like that—locked, flooded, broken—hearts hammering out the same wrecked, frantic rhythm, bodies welded together by something stronger than physics.

Even after Sterling's release fades, my body won't stop trembling around him. Every slight twitch of my muscles drags the knot against oversensitized nerves, pulling fresh, involuntary pulses of pleasure through me. Smaller orgasms ripple out in waves I can't control, wringing desperate little gasps from my throat as more fluid leaks from my cock, pooling between our bodies.

"Don't... stop," I manage to gasp, though he's barely even moving. It's not anything he's doing. It's the knot, swollen and locked inside me, holding my body hostage to pleasure I can't outrun.

"I've got you," Sterling murmurs, one massive hand moving to stroke my cock with the lightest, gentlest touch imaginable—feather-light caresses that somehow draw even more from me, leaving me broken, trembling, completely undone.

Time stops meaning anything. There's just us—tangled together, joined so deeply I can't tell where I end and he begins. Nothing matters except the overwhelming, all-consuming rightness of this.

"Are you all right?" he asks after a long moment, voice rough like he's been shouting—or praying.

"Perfect," I murmur, nuzzling into his fur like it's the safest place in the world. "Better than perfect."

"We'll be like this for a while," he says, voice dipping into that low, soothing register that strokes every raw, exposed nerve inside me. "Fifteen minutes. Maybe longer."

"I don't mind," I whisper, sinking deeper into him, letting his massive frame curl protectively around mine. The sheer intimacy of it—the ache and the heat and the feeling of belonging—makes my throat tight.

Sterling looks at me, something fragile flickering behind his burning amber gaze. Vulnerability, stark and unguarded.

"I never thought I'd have this," he admits quietly. "Someone who could accept all of me. Who'd want to."

The rawness of it guts me. I lift a shaky hand to his face, running my fingers through the thick, soft fur of his jaw, marveling at the incredible, impossible creature holding me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever touched.

"I don't just accept you," I say, voice steady even though my heart feels like it's cracking open inside my chest. "I want all of you. Every part. Because of who you are—not in spite of it."

Sterling closes his eyes for a second, like my words hurt almost as much as they heal. He turns his head and presses a kiss to my palm, lingering there like he's afraid he'll wake up and this will all be gone.

"I've never been so glad to be wrong about something," he whispers.

"Wrong about what?" I ask, though I think I already know.

"About us." His arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. "When you first started looking at me like that... when you spied on me in the collection room... I thought it was just curiosity. Just something new." He shakes his head, almost bitter. "And when we got physical, I told myself it was just attraction. Just hormones. Even after weeks, after months, I kept thinking it was temporary. That you'd get bored. That the novelty would wear off."

"And now?" I whisper when he goes quiet.

Sterling meets my eyes—and there's nothing left of the careful, professional man I first met. Only the wild, furious truth of him.

"Now I know it's something much more dangerous," he says hoarsely. "Something permanent."

The confession steals the air from my lungs. My heart pounds against my ribs, against his chest, the weight of what's between us slamming into me with the same terrifying, beautiful force that everything else about Sterling carries.

Before I can respond, Sterling winces slightly, his massive hands tightening protectively around my hips.

"The knot's starting to subside," he says, voice tight with apology. "Might be uncomfortable for a minute."

He's right. As the pressure inside me slowly eases, it's strange—more a tugging, shifting sensation than pain, walking the edge between pleasure and discomfort. I hold onto him, burying my face against his throat, breathing him in.

When he finally slips free with a slow, careful motion, I can't stop the soft, broken sound that leaves me. The sudden emptiness is jarring, leaving me feeling hollow and raw and still somehow desperately full of him.

Sterling doesn't let me go. Not for a second. His arms band around me, hauling me against his chest, his hand smoothing soothing circles down my spine like he's trying to glue me back together.

"How do you feel?" he murmurs, pressing kisses into my hair. "Any pain?"

"No pain," I breathe, nuzzling closer, greedy for every point of contact. "Just... different. Good different. Full in a way I've never been before."

He rumbles with satisfaction—a low, deep sound that vibrates right through my bones—and keeps petting me like he never intends to stop.

For a long time, we don't move. His fingers map lazy, reverent patterns over my bare skin while mine trace the thick, mesmerizing texture of his fur. Every stroke feels like a promise. Every breath shared feels like a vow.

Eventually, Sterling shifts just enough to murmur against my temple, "We should probably clean up." But he doesn't move to let me go.

"In a minute," I mumble, already half-asleep, completely boneless against him. "Just... stay. Stay like this a little longer."

Sterling presses a kiss to the crown of my head, his massive frame curling protectively around mine.

"We have all the time in the world," he promises, voice shaking with how much he means it.

And lying there, wrapped up in him, the late afternoon sun spilling across the tangled sheets and the wreckage of us, I believe him. For the first time, I believe everything.