She shouldn’t have reacted to it.
The words settled under her skin, warm and dangerous,sending a slow, steady heat through her chest that had nothing to do with the night air.
It wasn’t submission.
Not really.
She still had a choice.
That was the difference.
And somehow…
that made it worse.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt, grounding herself.
her body leaned into him betraying how much she wanted this,
how much she wanted him.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze sharpened, dark and knowing, like he could see straight through every layer she tried to hold in place.
“You feel that?” he murmured, brushing his lips just beneath her ear, not quite touching, not quite giving.
“The way you lean in… even while you’re trying not to.”
Her breath caught.
She hated how right he was.
Hated it even more because she didn’t pull away.
Instead, her chin lifted slightly, defiance flickering again fragile, but still there.
“I’m not yours,” she said, quieter now, but steady.
His hand stilled against her waist.
Not retreating.
Just… waiting.
Then slowly,
deliberately,
he tilted his head.
His eyes locking onto hers with something darker than before something patient.
Certain.
“No,” he agreed softly.“You’re not.”
A pause. "not yet"
His thumb traced along her jaw again, slower this time, almost thoughtful.
“But you’re choosing to be right here.”
Her pulse jumped.
Because that was the truth.
And he knew it.
His hand slid along her thigh once more, stopping just short again holding her right at that edge
that unbearable, deliberate restraint that made her breath uneven.
Still not giving.
Still making her feel every second of it.
“Say it,” he murmured.
Her brows pulled together slightly.
“Say what?”
“That you want this.” His voice dropped, quieter, heavier. “That you want me to stop holding back.”
Her chest rose and fell
the push and pull tightening inside her control versus craving, pride versus need. Her control over her own body and her reactions slipping
She could still walk away.
He hadn’t taken that from her.
He wouldn’t.
And maybe that was exactly why she didn’t.
Her grip on him shifted not clinging now, but deliberate, pulling him closer again.
Choosing.
“I want this,” she said, voice low, steady despite the way her pulse raced. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t.”
Something in him snapped into place at that.
Not a loss of control
but permission to use it, to use her
His hand tightened at her waist, firm, grounding, as he closed the space between them again, his mouth finding hers with a deeper intensity this timeless restraint, more certainty.
When he pulled back, it wasn’t far.
Just enough for his voice to brush against her lips.
“Careful what you wish for,” he murmured. “You might not like what happens when I don’t hold back.”
Her lips parted slightly, breath unsteady but her eyes didn’t waver.
A flicker of that same dangerous spark.
“Try me.”
That did it.
His control didn’t break.
It sharpened.
Focused entirely on her.
On the way she stayed.
On the way she chose this.
His hand moved again slower now, deliberate,
no hesitation left in the space between intention and action.
And when he leaned in once more, his voice low against her ear, there was no question in it this time.
Only promise.
“That’s my good girl.”
Her breath hitched again
and this time, she didn’t fight it at all. |
