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Chapter Text

The hallway lights spilled across her apartment door, catching the glimmer of her eyes as she turned to face him. The faint hum of the bulb pressed against the silence. Muted city sounds seeped through the walls. A trace of her perfume, sweet mochi and lavender, drifted between them. Her hand lingered on the doorknob, hesitant, as though one twist could shatter the moment.

The air was tense. Sylus felt each breath echo in his ribs. He leaned lazily against the wall, blazer draped over his shoulders, posture relaxed but predatory. His red gaze traced her face with slow intent. The faintest curl of amusement tugged at his lips at her nervousness.

“A perfect night shouldn’t end at the door,” he drawled. His voice was low and smooth, brushing the air between them. He tilted his head, silver hair falling across his brow as he inched closer, letting his presence touch her before his hand ever could. “What do you say we… unwind together?”

It was a move meant to tip her balance. Their relationship thrived on battles, push and parry, sharp wit against sharper resolve.

He pressed. She pushed back.

Pride kept them both dancing on a knife’s edge, neither willing to yield. Tonight should have been no different.

In the past, these sparring matches often ended with her rolling her eyes and shutting the door. Or him stealing one last sly comment. It was their rhythm, a ritual neither had broken until now.

But instead, her lips curved into a smile. Her eyes brightened with something too sincere to be a game.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers flexed against the knob as though bracing for a leap. Drawing a quick breath, she shifted her weight.

Nervous. Almost giddy.

“Really? You don’t mind staying over?” she asked.

Her voice was light. Hopeful. The sweetness tugged at him in ways her sharper words didn't.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged, before he could find his footing again.

Her reaction was... a surprise.

It was rare for her voice to hold such warmth when he teased her, rarer still for her to sound hopeful about spending extra time together.

At night. In her apartment.

His shoulders tightened for the briefest moment, a fleeting tell he quickly smoothed away. He felt caught off guard more than he liked. A sharp retort hovered on his tongue, but he forced it down—choosing restraint over instinct. 

She should have blushed. She should have scoffed. Instead, she looked at him as though he had offered her a priceless gift.

As shrewd as his kitten was, she still carried an innocence he could never begin to understand. An earnestness that softened her sharp wit. It unsettled him, stirring an urge to preserve that light even as he coaxed her toward the shadows.

She shifted again, fingers brushing her necklace. A nervous habit. “In case you forgot, my apartment isn’t nearly as luxurious as yours.”

That earned his smirk at last. The flicker of surprise smothered before it could show. She had no idea how little her surroundings mattered to him. Without her presence, even the grandest rooms feel hollow. He leaned in a fraction. Close enough that his breath grazed her cheek.

“Surely you’re not ready for our night to end just yet,” he murmured, daring her to draw the line.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully though her smile stayed warm. A faint laugh escaped her. She shifted her shoulder as if uneasy, though the glimmer in her gaze was pure mischief.

There she is.

“I could say the same to you, Sylus. Where’s all this energy coming from?”

Beneath the tease, his pulse thudded unevenly. He had merely meant to provoke her with his request. Instead, she had turned his own game on him. With sweetness rather than sharpness.

She was inviting him in.

What thrilled him most was that she wasn’t shy as she often was. No veil of hesitation tonight. She was feeling bold.

The shift delighted him, pulling a rare spark of anticipation through his veins.

She unlocked the door and ushered him inside, her movements unsteady as she made a beeline for the bedroom. Sylus followed with lazy confidence, though his eyes lingered on the sway of her short black dress. A flicker of heat sparked low despite his composed stride.

Inside, she flicked on a lamp in the corner, bathing the room in soft amber light. The glow pooled against her skin as she pulled the pins from her hair, dark waves tumbling free. He watched, momentarily transfixed. A strange flutter caught in his chest until she sighed and combed her fingers through her scalp, shaking it loose with relief.

Sylus shrugged off his blazer, voice low and suggestive. “Need help, kitten?”

Her smile was shy, but she didn’t refuse. Turning her back to him, she tilted her chin low, exposing the clasp of her necklace. “Take this off for me?” she murmured.

The nape of her neck was delicate, fine baby hairs feathered at the edges. He wanted to kiss it. But that wasn't what she invited him to do.

Instead, he obliged, unfastening the chain so it slipped smoothly into his palm while she removed her dangling earrings.

Each small act felt strangely intimate—less like seduction, more like surrendering little pieces of herself into his care. It chipped at his defenses more effectively than any brazen advance.

His hand found the zipper of her dress and slid it down in one smooth motion. The faint rasp of metal filled the hush of the room. The lamplight caressed the bare line of her back, and for an instant he pictured the silk pooling at her waist. But before he could ease the fabric further, she sat on the bed, tugging impatiently at her pantyhose. The tights clung stubbornly to her hips, hugging every curve in a way that tightened heat low in his chest. 

She grumbled, “Design torture devices, more like,” as she wriggled against the pull. Then, with a mischievous glance at him: “Come then, knight in shining armor—save me from these chains.”

A chuckle rumbled from him as he knelt before her, hands careful and steady. The fabric resisted as he worked it down inch by inch. Each soft peel filled his ears. Every sigh she made was an exquisite test of restraint. It was nearly unbearable not to lower his head, not to taste the smooth curve of her thighs as they were bared to him.

He clenched his jaw, mastering the urge. When the tights finally slid free, she sagged with a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she breathed. The word was genuine, no trace of tease behind it.

The sound rattled him. Not the husky moan he had fantasized, but simple gratitude. Unguarded, uncalculated. The honesty of it slipped past his armor, leaving him strangely enthralled.

He had come intending to ignite desire; instead, he was shaken by the purity of her comfort, by the ease she found beneath his hands.

She looked down at him with a crooked grin. “See? Worth the pain. You barely took your eyes off me all night.”

Heat stirred. For an instant he nearly blurted the truth, that undressing her like this has him practically hanging by a thread. He smothered it quickly, schooling his tone into its usual smoothness as he rose with controlled grace. “There are brands that would suit you better. I’ll take you shopping again soon.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I doubt there’s a brand of hosiery in the world that won’t make me uncomfortable. But you can try, if you want.”

She headed toward her closet, glancing back once. “Do you need any help?”

Lounging onto her bed with lazy arrogance, he replied, “Why? Want me to walk around bare in your apartment, kitten?” His gaze tracked her as she went.

From behind the closet door came a rustle, then a soft laugh before something flew toward him. He caught it. Cozy white pajamas patterned with multi-colored kittens and a pair of matching fuzzy socks. The fabric was ridiculously soft beneath his fingers. Absurdly out of place against the sharpness of his usual attire.

She peeked around the door, grinning. “Surprised? I got your size from the last time I was over. I’ll put your clothes in the wash if you want.”

For a moment he glanced down at himself. Sharp lines, tailored fabric, the sleek composure he wore like armor. Then back at the absurd pajamas.

Sylus stared, lips twitching before he could stop the laugh. Of all the counterattacks he had prepared for, pajamas with kittens printed all over them had not been one of them.

“Kittens, hm? Fitting,” he teased, holding the fabric up for inspection. “Though I expected you’d prefer me in something a little less… adorable.”

Her laugh rang warm, playful. The ridiculousness of the circumstance disarmed him more than lace or silk ever could. His expression softened despite himself. She was inviting him not into seduction, but into her comfort. And, disturbingly, that intimacy pierced deeper than desire, leaving him both amused and caught off guard in a way he rarely allowed.

After he pulled the pajamas on and adjusted the fuzzy socks, she stepped out of the closet and froze. Her eyes swept over him. For a beat she looked genuinely startled, as though the sight of him in something so soft and ridiculous short‑circuited her usual composure.

She burst out laughing, delight shining in her face. His heart lurched at the sound. Her laughter filled him with a warmth he had no defense against. He found himself secretly savoring it.

She looked so cozy. So unguardedly sweet. It tugged something deep in his chest. He couldn’t deny how cute she looked like this. She must have felt something similar, because she came right over to him, grinning ear to ear, and wrapped him in a huge hug.

“See?” she said brightly, squeezing him tight. “Cheap pj’s can be nice sometimes.”

For once, Sylus had no comeback ready. He only held her against him, her hair tickling his jaw and the soft warmth of the pajamas brushing against his skin. Startled by how much the simple gesture rooted itself in him, leaving his usual composure quietly shaken.

Later, changed into their unlikely sleepwear, they drifted to the living room. The low lamplight painted everything in shades of amber and shadow. Soft. Domestic. It tugged at Sylus’s composure. The faint hum of the television filled the silence, blending with muted city noise outside. The couch creaked as he stretched across it, and she searched for a blanket, her grin widening when she glanced at him.

“You look almost too good in these cozy pajamas,” she quipped, eyes sparkling. “Dangerous, really.”

He gave a low hum, one corner of his mouth curling upward. Outwardly he looked composed. Inwardly, their matching pajamas were making something in his heart sing. Patting the cushion beside him, his voice slipped into a suggestive murmur. “You know, I could keep you warm all night.”

She plopped down without hesitation, blanket in hand and a mischievous brightness in her tone. “Perfect. I’ve been saving this drama to binge. You’re in, right?”

Before he could reply, she handed him a blanket and curled half way into his lap. The movement was natural, effortless. The blanket spilled over both of them as she wriggled closer, her weight sinking against him.

“You make a good pillow too,” she teased, giving him a playful nudge.

For a heartbeat he went still. Instinct told him to redirect. His face remained composed, lips tilted in the same faint smirk. Inside, something shifted. Her warmth pressed through the blanket. The trusting weight of her body slowed him. It struck him how foreign it felt to be the source of such contentment. How impossible it was to look away.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had meant to lure her deeper, to draw out the fire he knew smoldered between them. Instead, she had coaxed him into quiet domesticity. Unhurried closeness.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Sylus was delighted to relinquish control. 

No one else could have coaxed him into wearing something so absurd, let alone let him be seen in it. Yet here he was, with her curled into his lap, kitten-print pajamas and all. Appearing in command while inwardly surrendering. Finding that the vulnerability felt less like weakness and more like a secret he wanted to share only with her.

She clicked the remote. The opening music of the drama filled the room. Colorful scenes flickered across the screen, painting shifting light over her face. Sylus leaned back, adjusting slightly to keep her comfortably nestled. The blanket’s warmth pressed close.

He hadn’t imagined ending the evening like this. Beneath a blanket with a woman absorbed in television. Her soft laughter made the strangeness worthwhile. He found himself watching her more than the screen. Struck by how completely she had disarmed him.

As the show played on, his thoughts wandered. Their path together had been anything but smooth. Sharp words, walls she refused to let him breach. He remembered the sting of those days when she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, when resonance between them had felt impossible.

That absence had cut deeper than he liked to admit. Yet here she was, curled against him willingly, laughter soft and unguarded. The memory of those rejections made her present closeness all the more staggering.

Now resonance came easily, a skill they used often. The fact that tonight was quiet, domestic, and wholly free of conflict made it feel like a victory he wouldn’t have believed possible months ago.

He thought briefly of their past battles—of how alive she became when they fought side by side, power flowing between them in a violent rhythm. The flash of those moments made her gentle weight against him even more striking.

No fire, no danger, just trust and warmth.

Outwardly, he was still, aloof. Inwardly, he was feeling shaken in this fragile moment. Peace, he realized, could be just as intoxicating as times of war when shared with her. The awareness made him want to hold the moment tighter. To savor the soft blanket and clothes around them. The hum of the television. The steady weight of her body pressed against his.

She shifted, tugging the blanket higher and settling deeper into his chest. A soft sigh brushed the fabric of his pajamas. The little gestures tugged at something raw inside him. He had never seen her so at ease in his presence.

For an instant, he almost wanted to be mean, to break the spell with a sharp tease or pinch.

Almost.

Instead, he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair. Pulling her closer.

She made a soft, happy sound and tilted just enough to brush a kiss against his cheek before turning back to the screen.

His skin burned where she left it.

He didn’t even know the name of the series. Or what was happening on the screen. That single chaste kiss riled him more than any heated touch should have.

His breath felt caught. His chest, tightened. The room seemed smaller, hotter.

The rest of the episode he spent in careful restraint. Focusing less on the show and more on keeping his hands in check. Fighting the temptation to let them wander.

There was something addictive about her kisses.

Even the innocent brush of her lips against his cheek. Each one lit a spark, sharp and insistent. If he didn’t hold the line, he could drown in it. Too easy to overindulge. Too easy to forget control. And that would serve neither of them well.

He had waited years for her. He could wait longer. But the truth pressed in on him. She was a constant temptation. Every shift of her body. Every sigh. Every kiss. Each one tested him, pulling him closer to the edge.

He wasn’t guilty for it. Lust and longing were as natural to him as breath. But tonight he felt lucky. As though he’d been handed something rare. Breakable. Her ease with him, her small gestures of trust, each one a gift he had no intention of squandering.

Moderating the hunger that prowled beneath his calm exterior wasn’t weakness. It was restraint. It was reverence. And it struck him how far he had shifted in one night—from scoffing at soft pajamas and domestic warmth to cherishing them as fiercely as any victory. The absurd comfort had become something sacred, because it was hers, and because it was theirs.

Later, when the credits rolled and she stretched with a soft groan, she tugged him toward the bathroom. The mundane domesticity of it almost made him laugh. The leader of Onychinus, in kitten-print pajamas, being dragged to brush his teeth. Yet he followed without complaint.

The mirror reflected them side by side beneath the warm light. She handed him a toothbrush still sealed in its wrapper, a spare she had kept for him. That detail, small as it was, sent a strange ache through his chest. He had invited himself over, but she had thought of him in advance, prepared for him as if his presence was natural, expected. Same for the pajamas he was wearing.

He tore open the wrapper with a flick of his wrist, then pressed himself against her side, keeping them hip to hip as he spread toothpaste onto his brush. She giggled at the closeness, trying to nudge him off, but he only leaned heavier until her laughter bubbled out around the bristles.

“Clingy, aren’t you?” she mumbled through a mouthful of foam, and he huffed a laugh at the sight.

Their shoulders bumped, their elbows tangled, and toothpaste foam clung messily at the corners of her smile. She was a complete disaster, mint dribbling onto her chin, and yet he couldn’t look away. For a fleeting moment he marveled at how ridiculous she looked—and how badly he still wanted her anyway.

It shouldn’t have been sexy at all, and yet he felt compelled. He turned and caught her mouth in a kiss, toothpaste and all. She shrieked against him in laughter, trying to twist away from his sudzy lips, but his arms locked around her waist, keeping her trapped. The kiss was a mess of mint and foam, more ridiculous than romantic, but the sound of her laughter echoing in the bathroom had them both cutting up, clutching each other and wheezing between gasps.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and flushed from laughter, their reflections in the mirror showed not sultry seduction but two people grinning like fools. The burst of energy contrasted sharply with the lazy mood from earlier, leaving him oddly exhilarated.

Not a battle, not a conquest. Just joy, messy and unguarded. And in that moment, he thought, this was rarer than any victory he had known: laughter and love, freely given.

The quiet of her bedroom felt different, as if the night itself had shifted gears. The echo of laughter still clung to him, but here it softened into something more fragile, more intimate.

He caught himself noticing the contrast—the chaos of foam and kisses giving way to the hush of shadows and warmth—and realized how much he wanted both.

They slipped beneath the blankets together. The fabric was soft against his skin, holding the faint scent of detergent and her perfume. The warmth of the day’s playfulness lingered between them, softening the edges of everything. She curled into him instinctively, her body pressed close, her breathing slowing with sleep. The weight of her against him, the residual mint still clinging faintly between them, grounded him in the present.

Half-asleep, she shifted to rest partially on top of him, murmuring drowsily, “I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

Silence stretched. He felt her words sink in, heavier after all the time he spent thinking about doing unsavory things to her.

He watched her through the dim light, brushing stray strands of hair back from her face and neck with a gentleness few would believe of him.

He had come here intent on pressing her boundaries, but she had met him unconditional trust instead. 

His kitten finally felt safe with him, and the weight of that trust sank deeper than any sexual thrill he might have sought between them.

It was unusual. Unthinkable. No one trusted him like this—and it unsettled him even as it steadied his heart. It made him want to protect this fragile connection between them, to guard it fiercely.

He lay there with her in his arms, casting aside the thoughts of intimacy he had carried into the night.

For now, sleep and trust were enough. Plenty enough for him.

As he drifted with her, he thought again of the bathroom laughter, the absurd kiss, the kitten-print pajamas. What began in chaos and comedy had ended in hush and sweetness, and somehow both felt equally his. Equally theirs.

And in that balance—pajamas, laughter, spearmint and sweetness—he found a truth he had never valued before: that the tedium of life could be as precious as the profound when it was shared with her.

These domestic moments, he realized, were to be treasured just as dearly as the other intimacy he yearned for.

At some point, he drifted. Sleep tugging him under—until his body jolted awake.

He was painfully hard.

Every pulse, every movement of her fingers sliding along him, sharp and wicked.

His breath hitched.

Precum wet him, sweat clinging to his skin.

She had been at this for a while.

The rapid realization made his chest pound heavily in his chest.

She’s been using him. Savoring him. While he lay oblivious.

His eyes shot open, taking in the lewd scene.

She was grinding against his leg in slow rolls, pajama bottoms gone, only thin panties left. The rough fabric of his sleepwear rubbed against her.

The press of her wet heat against his thigh made his head spin. Every drag of her hips. Every stroke of her hand.

Hunger he had fought to rein in all evening, stoked to a fever pitch.

The air felt thick, heavy with their mingled scent. His composure fractured into thousands of pieces.

He tried to speak, to accuse. Instead, a strangled moan broke free as her fingers stroked harder, coating her palm with his slick.

For a beat, he stared at her face. The curve of her lips. The gleam of mischief in her eyes. It almost made him falter. Almost made him laugh at how sweet she had looked hours ago, feigning innocence while plotting this.

He drew a ragged breath, fighting to steady himself, forcing a moment of restraint before it completely disintegrated.

Inside, his thoughts tore apart. He couldn’t believe what an actress she was—her yawns, her sleepy sweetness, her innocent smiles. All a carefully designed trap, just for him.

He had been so focused on guarding her trust that he hadn’t seen her need.

He didn't think it was possible to be fooled.

She had waited him out, knowing he burned. Now she reveled in catching him unprepared.

Their eyes locked.

He caught the hunger there and felt his own restraint shudder.

She bodly kissed him. Not tentative. Searing. Fierce. Her tongue sliding against his as if to brand him. Hunger roared back to life.

Breathless, he rasped, “This was terribly mean of you, kitten.”

Her reply was another kiss, hot and insistent, swallowing his complaint.

But Sylus wasn’t letting it go. The leader of Onychinus did not yield easily.

With a surge he rolled, pinning her beneath him. The mattress dipped under their weight.

If she wanted to play, he would show her what it meant.

His ridiculous kitty-print pajamas clung around his hips as he shoved them down—a jarring, absurd image against the raw heat coursing through him. The memory of laughter, the faint scent of fabric softener still lingering in their clothes, made the contrast all the sharper.

It only drove home just how far he’d fallen into her web.

He pressed against the thin barrier of her panties. Ground into her, deliberate, caging her. Their hands scrabbled over damp skin. The room was stifling. Duvet heavy, pajamas tangled at his thighs, lust thrumming between them.

Her breath hitched, eyes wide as she clutched at his ass.

The sheer want reflected in her eyes made his chest nearly seize. A growl pulled from deep in him before he crushed her mouth again.

He forced himself to pause, just long enough to taste her gasp before giving in to the pull.

He kissed her rough. Consuming. She ground back eagerly, making him groan into her mouth. She was absolutely incredible like this.

But she would not escape punishment.

She had toyed with him all night.

Played with his feelings.

His lips trailed down her jaw. Found her neck. He sank his teeth in a suckling bite that stole her breath. She gasped his name. Hands fluttered to push him away.

He bore down, biting harder. Chewing until her protests blurred into moans. He licked the spot, kissed, soothed until her voice broke into soft whimpers.

He paused long enough to watch her face. The flush spreading over her cheeks, the dazed parting of her lips. It undid him almost as much as her sounds. Fierce as she was, her boldness stirred something deeper in him—admiration, reverence tangled with hunger.

For an instant he almost shifted gears. To worship instead of punish. 

But there would be time for that.

He steadied his breathing, forcing one more beat of control. Then he moved lower, tracing her body, delighting in the softness beneath his teeth.

Each nip, each kiss fed his hunger. Her gasps, her moans, the sharp whines when he bit too hard—all stoked his fire. Every sound a spark.

He rewarded them with his tongue, kissing until she arched beneath him. He throbbed with arousal, every heartbeat echoing in his cock. Her voice and her surrender drove him higher.

At last he reached her inner thigh. Silken. Delicate. It made him ache. He lingered, savoring the tremble of her muscles beneath his lips. Then he lapped slowly, before biting down.

She shrieked, nearly sat up. He caught her legs, pinning them to the mattress.

Vulnerable. Trembling. He gave the spot special attention—biting, sucking, soothing until the skin flushed. His gaze flicked to the wetness soaking her panties.

He needed to taste her.

When he finally looked up at her, his mouth still sealed to her thigh, he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Her expression looked pained, as if she wasn’t sure she could endure it, yet her gaze was unwavering.

She was looking at him with love—pure, unconditional trust. It made something inside him twist. It made him want to be mean.

He turned his head and dragged his tongue across the damp fabric of her panties, savoring the taste that seeped through. Her hips jerked, and he smiled against her. Slowly, deliberately, he traced his teeth along her covered slit until he found the hard nub of her clit.

She froze instantly, gasping his name with a trembling voice. Carefully, he nibbled and circled the bud with his teeth, enough to make her squeak, enough to remind her who was in control. Yet her body betrayed her true feelings—her thighs quivered, her hips rolled, her panties grew wetter beneath his mouth.

Emboldened by her response, he hooked the fabric aside and sealed his lips over her completely. A moan ripped free, startled and needy, as his tongue pushed inside to gather her slick before smearing it up over her clit.

The taste was intoxicating, a dark sweetness he could drown in. The added glide gave him freedom to toy with her mercilessly—licking, circling, dragging his teeth over the swollen bud in ways that made her cry out.

Her reactions were everything he craved: submission laced with defiance. She whimpered and pushed at his shoulders, gasping his name like she couldn’t take more, yet the next moment she arched into his mouth, chasing the bite, demanding it.

Each time his teeth grazed her, she gave a sharp cry that sent fire through his veins, and he soothed it after with gentle licks and kisses, only to do it again. He wanted her conflicted, wanted her torn between fear and pleasure, because every sound she made, every twitch of her hips, was proof she wanted this as much as he did.

Soon her begging began, her voice rising as a hand found its way to his hair, gripping tight. The tug and the pleading tone made him relent, if only slightly. He dipped his tongue into her again, and she let out a noise of pure relief, breaths breaking uneven.

He kissed her deeply there, tongue reaching inside in a way that had her thighs clamping tight around his head. He pried her open again with his strength, flattening her against the mattress as he pressed tender kisses to her folds and glistening heat.

Then he pulled back, eyes glinting. “Turn over, kitten.”

She looked at him with a flicker of sadness, her voice soft. “...but then I can’t see you. I wanna look at you.”

For a moment, something in him balked. Her tone was too quiet, almost fragile, and it pricked at the edge of his conscience. But her body's response was too honest to ignore.

He responded with sharp slap to her ass, a sharp crack echoing in the room. She flinched with a gasp, big wide eyes looking up at him.

“I won’t ask again, sweetie.” he growled.

She her beseeching gaze turned into a glare. Defiant, even with her pout trembling, as though she wanted to bite back a cruel remark.

Instead, she turned over with a tearful scowl, burying her face in the sheets.

His lips curved in satisfaction at her obeisance as he laid himself over her back, slotting between her cheeks. She groaned at the heavy press of him, her body arching instinctively.

He reached down, slipping his fingers between them to sink inside her, his cock resting hot and heavy beside them at her entrance.

In this position she could barely move, her hips pinned, her range of motion restricted.

She could only lie there and take whatever he decided to give.

He could feel her frustration at the teasing pace, the way she clenched around his fingers while his cock hovered just out of reach. His breath burned hot against her ear as he worked her with a punishing pace, savoring every quiver of her body, every sound she broke into.

And it was working—her pleas unraveled into pathetic whimpers, music to his ears.

“Beg for it,” he growled low against her ear, his voice thick with hunger. She whined instead of answering, trembling beneath him. His smirk curved sharp.

“Not so bold now, are you? You wore that dress tonight because you knew it was my favorite. Did you enjoy making me ache for you?”

Her muffled protest only made him rougher, his fingers plunging deeper—two, then three, then four—stretching her until she moaned into the pillow.

“You knew I was holding back,” he hissed. “All night I wanted you. And all this time, you were just as desperate. How did you hide it from me? Hm?”

She shuddered, soaking his hand, and he relished it, pressing the head of his cock against his fingers at her entrance. She clenched instantly, her tightness making his pulse hammer in his ears. He rocked there deliberately, savoring each tremor of her body as she tried to push back, tried to take him in.

“You had all of this planned,” he pressed, voice like steel in her ear, “Using me in my sleep… you’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, starting tonight.”

The heat of it all—her cries, the tension in her thighs, the grip of her body—it was intoxicating. He pressed closer, groaning at the way she tried to open for him, at how badly she wanted him despite her trembling.

It felt like triumph, like the culmination of everything she had denied him.

Yet something gnawed at him.

She grew quiet—too quiet.

Normally, this was the moment she would twist to throw him a sharp remark, or resist just to prove she could. But there was no bite in her voice, no spark of her usual defiance. A clipped breath stalled in his throat.

...Something was wrong.

Her movements faltered against him, voice breaking into strangled half-moan, half-sob.

Her whole body shook, not with surrender but with strain.

The tremors jolted Sylus from the haze.

He froze, voice raw as he rasped, “Kitten?”

She buried her face in the pillow, hips still lifting in desperate imitation of invitation, but the trembling didn’t stop.

She was forcing it, trying to keep pace with him, and his chest went tight.

Alarm ripped through him. He pulled back and rolled her over, bracing himself for defiance. Instead, the sight gutted him.

Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks, catching the dim moonlight like shards of glass.

It struck him like a bullet to the heart: the memory of her smiles only hours before, the sparkle in her eyes across the dinner table, her playful giggles in the bathroom—all shattered now, replaced by fear he had put in her.

His chest constricted so violently, it felt like a physical wound.

He had tainted her joy, poisoned what should have been a perfect night, the first one in a long time.

She tried to turn her face away, whispering, “It’s fine—I promise, I can take it,” as if words alone could erase the evidence streaking her skin.

His stomach dropped to ice.

She wasn’t fine.

She was scared, overwhelmed, pushing herself to endure for his sake.

“No,” he growled—not at her, but at himself.

Shaking his head, he pulled her upright and into his lap, caging her against his chest like he could shield her from the hurt he’d inflicted.

She clung to him at once, years wracking her frame.

He kissed her frantically, desperately, mouth grazing across her temples, her cheeks, chasing each tear as though he could erase them by sheer will.

Between hiccupping breaths she managed, “I’m fine, I swear. I'm sorry, I just didn’t expect to feel so sad not seeing your face…”

He didn’t believe her, not when she was so upset.

Guilt twisted inside him, an angry storm threatening to consume him whole. He had lost control, just as he always feared, and in his hunger he had hurt the one person he vowed never to harm.

When she shifted in his lap, trying to guide herself down onto him again, it nearly broke him.

He felt her body constrict—too tight, too tense. She wasn’t ready, but she was trying anyway, desperate not to let him down.

She thought he was disappointed.

Horror struck him the moment he realized. His instincts snapped—he caught her with startling force, lifting her high against his chest.

“Stop it,” he commanded, voice low, shaking with more fear than anger. He didn’t want her to break herself for him.

But words made her flinch, her motions stuttering into appeasement as though bracing for rejection.

Her tears spilled faster, arms clinging tight around his neck. “I’m sorry. I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

His heart cracked. Damn him. He had scared her. The thought gutted him, leaving his voice unsteady.

He silenced her with a kiss—soft, reverent, trembling at the edges. He paused, searching her face, then kissed her again, slower. Each breath clipped, hesitant, before words finally broke free.

“Nothing is ruined,” he whispered fiercely. “The night is still perfect.” He rained kisses across her face, pressing his vow into her skin. “There is nowhere else I would rather be than here. With you.”

Her tears eased, her breathing slowly calming down as she sagged against him. He smoothed her hair back with hands that tried not to tremble, forcing her gaze to meet his.

“I love you, my treasure,” he said, voice hoarse with desperation and truth. “You know that, don’t you?”

Her eyes overflowed anew as she nodded, kissing him with trembling urgency. “I do. I do, Sy, I-... I love you too.”

The tension that had threatened to tear them apart melted into something fragile but unbreakable.

Both flushed, still trembling with desire, yet now tempered with the raw certainty of love—the kind that bared all fear and still chose to hold on.

He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her face between his hands as though she might vanish if he let go.

“Then since you love me… you’ll tell me when it hurts. You’ll never hide that from me.”

Her wide eyes still glistened with so much love. So much trust. “I will. I promise.” Then, with a soft, pleading breath, she added, “Please, Sy…”

He would never abandon her.

This time he did not rush. He wanted her pliant, relaxed, unafraid. He took her hand and guided it down with his own, pressing her fingers inside herself alongside his. The snugness of her touch against his made her choke on a sound, body jolting at the intrusion.

Her breath caught, uneven, thighs quivering around his wrist. Their joined fingers moved together, brushing deeper until the slick, obscene sounds of her arousal filled the room. The noise made his cock twitch.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, a vow. “So we don’t rip this beautiful pussy of yours.”

She keened, overwhelmed, her head tossing back. His fingers reached farther than hers ever could, stroking places that made her gasp in disbelief. Her hand slipped free with a broken whimper, clutching at his wrist as if to slow him, but he only smiled darkly.

Emboldened, he drove his fingers harder, quick, relentless thrusts that forced her cries from her throat. She twisted, overwhelmed, but he caught her waist in the crook of his arm, holding her still. The wet heat of her clamped around him, growing slicker with each stroke.

She tightened in that familiar way, she was close.

A ragged laugh tore out of him, rough and reverent all at once. “Are you coming right now?” he demanded, already pressing his thumb to her clit, circling mercilessly.

Her answer came not in words but in the violent tremors that overtook her. She writhed helplessly, hips bucking, before her release broke free in a hot gush that soaked his lap and stomach.

The sight of her undone—her body convulsing, voice fractured—struck him like lightning. His heart seized in his chest. God, he loved her.

She sagged against him, boneless, trembling. He eased his fingers free and pulled her into his chest, cradling her head with one broad palm. She whimpered, clutching at his shirt, then tugged him insistently down toward her.

“Please, Sy, please,” she repeated, voice wrecked but certain. “I’m ready. I promise. Please, oh please,”

He hesitated, checking her with careful fingers one last time. This time he found her open, velvet soft, drenched, yielding in a way she hadn’t been before.

She was ready. More than ready.

He shifted over her, chest to chest, lowering himself with a kiss pressed to her damp cheek. The tip of his cock nudged her, and he whispered against her lips, “Gonna use you now, kitten.” Pulling back just enough, he caught her gaze.

“I’m ready,” she whispered back, trembling but unflinching. “Use me.”

He kissed her once. Twice. Then, with infinite care, he pressed forward. The slow stretch of her body around him made both of them gasp. He bottomed out, buried deep, and for a moment neither of them moved—only clung to one another, shaking with the weight of it.

The world narrowed, all sound falling away until there was only the wet clutch of her body, the ragged rise and fall of her breath, and her cries breaking into moans. It was transcendent, overwhelming. She was everything.

Her nails dug into his back as he began to move, slow at first, letting her adjust. Each shallow thrust drew wanton sounds from her, raw and unguarded, making his cock twitch inside her.

She shattered quickly, clenching tight around him, soaking the sheets beneath them. He stilled, holding her, kissing her damp face and hair until her tremors ebbed. Only then did he move again, coaxing her back up.

Each time she begged for more, he gave it, building her slow and steady, savoring the way her body broke open for him. Her voice dissolved into fractured syllables of his name, the sound burning through him like fire.

He slowed to watch her face, mesmerized by the way her expression twisted with every thrust—the flutter of her lashes, the way her lips fell open in soundless pleas. That sight alone nearly undid him.

Time blurred. She came again, convulsing beneath him, sobbing his name as though it were the only word left to her. He kissed her through it, patient, reverent, before rocking her toward another peak. The rhythm of their bodies filled the hours, stretched out by pauses of tenderness—soft kisses, whispered pleas, shuddering breaths.

She lost count of her releases, each one soaking the sheets further, each one leaving her trembling harder in his arms. Still he stayed with her, lost in the cadence of her pleasure. His restraint frayed, undone by her broken whimpers, the sharp keens that seemed made only for him.

The pressure in his chest had been building long before, tightening with every thrust, every reminder of how deeply she trusted him. When he finally stilled, buried deep inside her, his whole body trembled with the force of it.

A sob escaped him, sudden and raw. His eyes stung, tears spilling hot down his face. Unlike hers, his were not of pain, but of joy—fierce, unrelenting joy at being hers, at being loved, at being trusted this completely.

He buried his face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer. His tears dampened her skin as he clung to her, shaking with the force of everything he felt.

When he moved again, it was slow, reverent, each thrust a vow. The final crescendo built with deliberate inevitability, until the rhythm became unbearable. Release broke through him like fire, ripping his name from her lips as she convulsed with him.

Afterward, he held her close, both trembling, bodies slick with sweat. His breath stuttered against her hair, his tears mingling with hers. Slowly, the urgency bled away, leaving only tenderness—his hands stroking her back, his lips brushing her temple.

The sheets clung damp and heavy to their overheated bodies. Night air cooled their skin, carrying the scent of her arousal, grounding him. In the hush that followed, peace settled in his chest at last.

And in this moment, there was only warmth, trust, and the quiet certainty that she was his and he was hers.

Chapter Text

Sylus lay warm beside her, his breath steady beneath her cheek.

The faint scent of mint and clean cotton lingered from their laughter in the bathroom. The kitten-print pajamas clung to him, soft and absurd, making him look almost boyish in sleep. For the first time all night, the constant awareness in his posture was gone. He looked completely unguarded, soft in a way he would hardly allow himself to be while awake.

She knew exactly what he’d intended when he invited himself over. His teasing tone and the way his gaze lingered had made that clear. He’d wanted her. He always did. And in truth, she had wanted him just as badly. Every part of her had been an invitation—her glances, her laughter, the way she’d leaned too close and lingered too long. But when the moment came, he never pressed. Never crossed the line.

The restraint had shocked her as much as it moved her.

He had spent the entire evening in careful control for her sake, and the realization filled her with warmth and confusion in equal measure.

Their beginning had been rough, driven by conflict, fear, and desire they didn’t understand. Back then, he took what he wanted without hesitation, their intimacy more about heat and impulse than care.

Now, that side of him seemed to have quieted. He no longer reached for her first. He waited. And that patience, though tender, scared her more than his hunger ever had.

She wanted to believe this change came from respect, that he was learning to read her, to give her space. But darker doubts whispered in the back of her mind.

What if his passion had faded? What if her hesitation dulled his desire? What if one day he realized she was too much work to love and quietly drifted away?

Sex had always carried a weight she couldn’t quite shake, an anxiety that lingered even now, whispering that she might not be enough. The guilt of making him wait, rooted in their painful beginning and the memory of how intimacy once came from force rather than choice, pressed on her as much as the heat in her veins.

Yet he hadn’t pushed. That, more than anything, unsettled her. It was as though he’d built invisible walls around his desire, refusing to reach for her unless invited.

She couldn’t tell if it was respect or fear, tenderness or distance.

The uncertainty gnawed at her until it transformed into resolve. She wanted, needed, to show him she still wanted him too.

The longer she lay beside him, the harder it became to ignore the pulse between her thighs and the ache in her chest. Every soft exhale against her hair, every brush of his breath over her skin, sent another spark through her. The memory of his self-control, his quiet patience and gentle kisses, made her ache with wanting.

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the warmth of his body. He had made her feel safe all evening. He had laughed with her, kissed her through toothpaste foam, helped her out of her dress with hands that never pushed too far. He had shown her that gentleness and desire could coexist, and that his care for her was profound. A love that didn’t demand anymore, only waited.

Her mind replayed the evening in flashes: the slow unzip of her dress, his knuckles brushing her spine, the low rumble of his laugh, the way he had held her close on the couch, her body tucked against his chest as their laughter faded into a quiet calm. Each memory swelled in her chest, warmth and affection building until she could hardly breathe. His tenderness lingered, thrumming through her pulse, carrying her toward the choice waiting ahead.

She wanted to be brave.

Her hand trembled as she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He didn’t stir, only exhaled, his mouth parting slightly in sleep. The sight of him like this, unguarded and trusting, made her chest ache.

She hesitated only a moment before sliding her hand down, fingers tracing the soft cotton of his shirt to his waist. Her breath caught as she slipped past the waistband of his pajama pants, skin meeting heat. He was already warm there, the faintest unconscious twitch against her palm a reminder of the hunger he had kept carefully leashed all night.

She smiled softly, nerves melting into affection, gratitude blooming in her chest. “You’re sweeter than you look,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

Her fingers explored the curve of him, finding his cock already half-hard, heavy but still soft in places. The contrast sent a sharp thrill through her belly. He felt so real, so vulnerable like this, his body giving away what his restraint had hidden all night. She traced her thumb along the warm skin, feeling it pulse faintly beneath her touch.

A shiver ran through her as she watched his face, half-afraid, half-delighted at her own daring. He didn’t stir—only breathed, slow and steady, lips parted just enough to make her pulse quicken. The quiet made everything sharper: the sound of her breath, the glide of her hand, the anticipation building in her chest. She wondered what it would take to wake him. Would it be a sigh, a breath, or the first firm stroke of her hand?

The thought made her dizzy with excitement. Her fingers curled gently around him, holding him there, savoring the heat and the growing weight against her palm. She bit her lip, watching him with wide, trembling eyes, the giddy thrill of the moment rising as she imagined him waking to find her like this—his name already forming silently on her tongue.

She drew in a quiet breath and gathered her courage. Her hand tightened slightly, then she gave a single slow stroke from tip to base. The motion earned a low, breathy sound from him. His eyes moved beneath his lids, the faintest flicker, but they never opened. Her heart hammered as she nuzzled into his shoulder, her cheek brushing his skin. Looking up at his face, she began to fondle and stroke him again, her movements cautious yet deliberate.

His breathing shifted, coming in short, unsteady gasps, but he didn’t stir.

Was he truly such a deep sleeper?

The thought made her pulse quicken. She hesitated only a moment before pushing further. Carefully, she tugged his pajama pants and underwear down past his hips. It took effort—he was heavier than he looked—and she was sure the motion would wake him. Yet he remained still, lost in some deep dream, blissfully unaware.

With him more exposed, she wrapped her hand around him once more, the slick warmth making her tremble. Slowly, she began to stroke him in earnest, watching the way his body responded beneath her touch. His cock grew slicker, precum glistening at the tip before spilling down her fingers, each pulse a quiet confession of how much he wanted her even in sleep.

She couldn’t ignore the throb between her legs any longer. Hooking one leg over Sylus’s, she pressed herself against his hip and began to grind slowly, her breath catching as the pressure met the aching heat between her thighs. The effect was immediate—pleasure shot through her, stealing a sound from her throat that she barely managed to stifle. Still, her hand never stopped moving over him, the rhythm of her stroking syncing with the slow rock of her hips.

The more she moved, the harder it became to think. The drag of his skin against her palm, the delicious friction against her clothed center, the weight of his thigh between her legs—it all blurred together until she couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and another began. Time slipped away; she couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours.

The wet heat spread through her. With a shaky breath, she slid off him just enough to pull her pajama pants down her legs, discarding them in a quiet rush. The cool air hit her bare skin, followed by the warmth of his body as she pressed herself back against him.

The difference was staggering. Each grind against his hip sent sparks racing through her, the bare friction of skin against skin making her gasp. Her thighs trembled, her fingers tightening around him as she stroked faster, slick sounds filling the dark room.

Her world narrowed to the rhythm between them—the rise and fall of his chest, the glide of her hand, the roll of her hips. His cock pulsed heavily in her grasp, precum slicking her palm until every stroke felt desperate and obscene. She could feel herself slipping further, losing herself in the pleasure, chasing it as if it might carry her somewhere safe. Her breath came in ragged little sighs, each one hotter, faster, more unrestrained than the last.

She didn’t notice the moment his body tensed until it was too late. His eyes shot open, catching her mid-grind, pajama bottoms gone, only thin panties clinging to her. The sudden awareness sent a jolt through her, but her movements never ceased. Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized the full picture he must be seeing—her hips rolling against his thigh, her hand wrapped around him, his slick coating her fingers.

Before she could speak, a low, breathy sound escaped him, halfway between a groan and a gasp. She watched his eyes move, sharp and dazed, and her heart skipped. For a fleeting second, she thought he might stop her. Instead, the sound deepened, raw and startled, as his body responded beneath her touch.

The air felt heavy with heat and their mingled scent. She couldn’t look away from him, from the way his lips parted in a broken exhale. His composure—always perfect, always unshakable—fractured right before her eyes. The sight made her shiver with both anticipation and exhilaration.

He tried to speak, but the words never came, only a strangled moan. She tightened her grip, instinct taking over, and watched the flicker of his eyelids, the subtle tremor in his breath. Their eyes met, and the hunger there burned all hesitation away.

Her pulse thundered. Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him, not tentative or shy but fierce and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of longing she had into it. His answering growl rumbled against her lips, low and electric.

She barely heard him rasp, “This was terribly mean of you, kitten.”

Guilt flickered faintly then—not regret, but a startled awareness of how much power she held in that moment, how much her surprise for him had undone him. She had wanted to please him, to make him lose that composure she held tightly to all evening, but she hadn’t expected the raw intensity of his response.

With newfound confidence, she silenced him with another kiss, claiming his mouth before he could say more. It was fierce and unrestrained, her desire blazing in every movement.

Her gasp turned to a helpless moan as he suddenly surged upward, the movement toppling her onto her back.

The mattress dipped beneath their combined weight, her body arching beneath his. She caught a glimpse of his eyes, dark and blazing, before he crushed his lips to hers again. She felt the drag of his pajama pants as he shoved them all the way off, the brush of fabric against her legs absurdly soft against the raw heat building between them.

Sylus pressed into her, grinding against the thin barrier of her panties, each deliberate motion drawing another sharp sound from her. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, clutching at his shoulders as the room spun around them.

This new position had her melting beneath him. It felt too close, too real, too much.

He bit her neck, sharp and sudden, drawing a cry from her before his tongue soothed the mark. The mix of pain and pleasure coiled low in her chest, leaving her trembling against him.

“Sy,” she tried to say his name, but it came out as a gasp.

His teeth sank deeper, the sting melting into warmth as his lips traced soft, open‑mouthed kisses down her skin. The sound of her own whimper startled her—soft, broken, pleading—and still she couldn’t stop herself. Her breath came in ragged bursts, short and uneven.

Each exhale trembled, quick and frantic, matching the racing pulse beneath her skin as he kissed lower, his path slow and deliberate. She could hardly think. Every inch of her felt alive under his mouth.

When he paused, she dared a glance down. His gaze was fixed on her face, the hunger in his eyes softened by something almost tender. It looked so much like love it made her heart seize.

His lips wandered lower, tracing a line over her ribs and stomach, his teeth grazing teasingly. She gasped, arching toward him. Each kiss deepened the ache building inside her until her breath broke in helpless sounds. When his mouth reached her inner thigh, she shivered.

The slow drag of his tongue sent heat curling through her spine before a bite made her cry out. Her body jolted, but his hands caught her legs, pinning her easily. Vulnerable. Trembling. His mouth worked over the same spot, biting, sucking, soothing, until her skin burned and her pulse thundered.

Her thoughts scattered.

She wanted to surrender, yet part of her still marveled that he could look at her like this, as if she were something fragile and worth reverence. Then his breath ghosted over her center, making her hips twitch. Her panties clung to her, soaked through, and when she met his gaze again, she saw worship there. It nearly broke her.

His tongue dragged over the damp fabric, pulling a desperate cry from her. Her hips jerked, and she caught the flicker of his smirk before his teeth found her clit through the thin barrier. The gentle nip made her squeak, her hands clutching at the sheets as her body betrayed her, arching toward his mouth. Each stroke of his tongue drew fresh heat, every pass making her wetter.

When he hooked the fabric aside and his mouth found her bare, she gasped, startled, needy, undone. His tongue slid into her, then up over her clit, spreading the wetness he’d gathered. He moved with growing hunger, licking, circling, drawing soft gasps from her until she couldn’t breathe.

She tried to push at his shoulders, but he only groaned against her and pulled her closer. Pleasure built too fast, too high. Her body didn’t know whether to flee or fall apart beneath him. She whimpered his name, but even her pleas melted into moans when his mouth returned to her.

Her fingers found his hair, gripping not to stop him but to anchor herself. When his tongue plunged deeper, a sob tore free. He kissed her there, deep, slow, consuming, until her thighs closed tight around his head. He pried them apart again, firm and unyielding, pressing soft kisses to her folds, tracing her slickness as if memorizing it.

Then he pulled back, his voice broke through the haze, low and commanding. “Turn over, kitten.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “...but then I can’t see you. I wanna look at you." she whispered, her voice trembling, the words escaping before she could stop them. She meant it as a plea, though she wasn’t sure if he heard the worry hidden beneath it.

The sharp crack of his hand met her skin. The sting flared, drawing a startled gasp from her lips. “I won’t ask again, sweetie.” he growled.

Her body reacted before her mind caught up. Tears stung her eyes, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or the sudden rush of emotion. It wasn’t the dominance that hurt—she’d expected that—it was how he suddenly wasn't looking at her. His eyes no longer met hers, and the absence felt like a door closing

Still, she turned, pressing her face into the sheets, forcing her breath to steady. She told herself this was what she wanted, that he was still touching her, that he hadn’t stopped. The mattress dipped behind her as his weight settled over her back, hot and solid, fitting between her thighs.

A soft moan escaped her despite the ache in her chest. His fingers found her again, sinking deep, grounding her in sensation. She clung to that touch, willing herself to believe it meant everything was still all right, even as her heart began to tremble.

Pinned beneath him, she could barely move. Her hips were trapped, her breath stolen with each deliberate thrust of his fingers. The weight of him pressed her into the mattress, leaving her helpless to anything but the rhythm he chose. She wanted to keep up, to match him, but every motion only earned a new gasp or broken sound from her. Her frustration tangled with heat, her body shaking as he kept her on edge, never letting her fall completely over. His breath burned against her ear, rough and uneven, and the low growl that followed sent a shiver straight through her.

“Beg for it,” he rasped.

She couldn’t. The words caught in her throat. Her whine came out instead, breathless, small, humiliating. She trembled beneath him, heart racing as she felt his smirk curve against her skin. He mocked softly, his voice sliding through her like silk and steel.

“Not so bold now, are you? You wore that dress tonight because you knew it was my favorite. Did you enjoy making me ache for you?”

Her muffled protest barely formed before his pace grew rougher. His fingers plunged deeper—two, then three, then four—stretching her so full she cried out into the pillow. Her mind spun, torn between the sharp edge of pleasure and something rawer underneath. He murmured against her ear again, each word darker, heavier.

“You knew I was holding back. All night I wanted you. And all this time, you were just as desperate.”

Her body betrayed her, soaking his hand as he pressed harder, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock. She clenched instinctively, a strangled moan catching in her throat as he rocked just against her, testing the boundary. She wanted him inside her, wanted the connection, yet something inside her twisted with fear.

His voice came again, low and sure. “You were just as thirsty as me. Using me in my sleep… you’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, starting tonight.”

Her heart lurched. He didn’t sound angry—he sounded pleased. Triumphant. She should have been relieved, maybe even proud.

But the words pressed on her chest, heavy and suffocating.

He moved closer, groaning as her body welcomed him, and she felt herself trembling again, uncertain if it was from need or dread.

He was right above her, everything she wanted, and yet she felt the edges of panic tighten inside her. He was so close, his heat pressed to her, but she couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t meet his eyes. The thought sliced through the haze of pleasure like a blade.

She was petrified. 

He kept moving, slow and deliberate, voice rough with pleasure. She tried to breathe, tried to keep up, but her chest ached. More tears welled up, unbidden, spilling before she could stop them.

She bit her lip hard to keep quiet, desperate not to ruin the moment. He wanted her, she reminded herself. He was touching her, still with her. That had to mean he still loved her.

Didn’t it?

But the longer she stayed silent, the more her body trembled. Her whimpers came out strangled, closer to sobs now. She felt him hesitate above her, then heard his voice, startled, raw. “Kitten?”

She buried her face in the pillow, ashamed. Her hips still lifted, trying to keep him there, to prove she wanted him, even as the tremors wracked her body. Don’t stop, she wanted to say.

Please, don’t stop.

But then he did.

The air rushed out of her lungs as he pulled away and turned her over. She blinked through her tears, terrified of what she’d see—anger, disgust, disappointment. Instead, she found his face stricken, pale with guilt. He froze, staring at her, and she realized how she must look: tear-streaked, trembling, broken.

Her voice barely made it out. “It’s fine,” she whispered, desperate. “I can take it.”

She tried to smile, but her lips trembled too hard. If she said the wrong thing, if she seemed too fragile, he might never touch her like this again. He might start to see her as someone who he couldn't be himself with, someone who couldn't accept all of him. The thought hollowed her.

"No," he growled, shifting her in his arms.

The sound shook her. He didn't feel mad at her—she knew that somehow—but it didn’t matter. Fear flooded her anyway, curling cold around the warmth between them. Then suddenly, he was holding her, pulling her up into his arms. Her body moved on instinct, clinging to him, sobs breaking loose against his chest.

He kissed her like he could erase it all, his breath warm against her damp skin. Salt and tears mingled on her lips, his mouth tracing over every tear as if to soothe each one away. She could feel a slight tremble in his lips. The air between them shuddered with shared fear and need, his breath soft and broken against her skin.

When she finally caught her breath, she gave a shaky, wet laugh. “I’m fine, I promise… I just didn’t expect to feel so sad not seeing your face…”

She meant it, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. She had been sad, but not just for that reason. She was terrified that her weakness had cost her something precious.

When she felt him tense, stiffness rippling through his touch, panic flared bright and hot.

She couldn’t lose this closeness. Not when she finally felt like his. Not when they'd come so far.

So, when she shifted, trying to guide herself back onto him, it wasn’t bravery—it was desperation. 

She needed him to know she still wanted him, even if her body shook. She couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at her and seeing someone broken. But then his hands caught her, firm and sudden, lifting her back up.

Away from him.

“Stop it,” he said, voice low but shaking. It struck her to her core.

She was frozen in place. For a heartbeat, she was convinced he was rejecting her. Her tears came harder, falling fast as she clung to him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?” The words came out cracked, desperate. She could barely breathe through the fear.

Her eyes lifted just long enough to see his face fall, something like grief flickering across his features as he finally looked at her.

The sight of that expression—how broken he seemed to see her cry—only made her chest ache more.

His voice followed, low and fierce: “Nothing is ruined. The night is still perfect. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here. With you.”

His lips were on hers—so soft and gentle. It was that moment, she realized he wasn’t pushing her away at all. He was trying to soothe her, to hold her together when she felt like breaking apart, trembling, full of all this uncertainty. That tender kiss broke her all over again.

It took a while before her sobs quieted, her heartbeat slowing as the steady warmth of his chest soothed her. His thumb traced slow circles along her cheek, and she curled her fingers into his shirt, clutching at the fabric like an anchor. His breath stirred through her hair, a gentle rhythm that calmed the tremors in her limbs until she melted into him completely.

When he brushed her hair back and guided her gaze up, his eyes were unguarded. “I love you, my treasure,” he said, voice raw but certain. “You know that, don’t you?”

Her vision blurred all over again. She nodded before her courage slipped away, whispering his name through her tears as she kissed him. “I do. I do, Sy, I-... I love you too.” The words left her like a sigh she’d been holding too long.

The tension that had bound them—fear, guilt, longing—dissolved into something fragile but whole. He rested his forehead to hers, framing her face as if afraid to let her go. His tone softened, thick with care. “Then since you love me… you’ll tell me when it hurts. You’ll never hide that from me.”

She swallowed, eyes glimmering with trust.

“I will,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I promise.” The air between them grew charged again, thick with need. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she breathed, “Please, Sy.”

He didn’t rush her this time. Everything about him was deliberate, his patience wrapping around her like a promise. The world seemed to narrow to his touch—the press of his palm guiding hers, the quiet tremor of control in his breathing. When their hands slid lower and found her warmth, she gasped. The moment their fingers slipped inside together, the stretch stole her breath, her body jolting helplessly. The snug, intimate pressure made her choke on a sound she couldn’t contain.

Her breathing turned uneven, thighs trembling around his wrist as they moved together. The slick rhythm filled the air, shameless and raw, but she didn’t care. Each sound became proof that she was real in his hands, that he still wanted her this way—that this closeness hadn’t been lost between them.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” he murmured, his voice low, steady, a vow breathed against her skin. “So we don’t rip this beautiful pussy of yours.”

His words made her ache in ways she hadn’t expected. Once, tenderness like that would have frightened her, but now it only pulled her closer to him. Her head fell back, a broken sound escaping as his fingers reached deeper, finding places that felt impossibly new. Pleasure crested too fast, blurring into something bright and unbearable. She reached for his wrist, trying to ground herself, to steady the shaking inside her, but he didn’t stop. His rhythm stayed steady, coaxing every ragged breath from her lips.

The pace grew quicker, his touch relentless yet careful. Each thrust drew another cry from her throat. She twisted beneath him, overwhelmed, but his arm held her still, anchoring her as heat built low in her belly. The slick friction of their joined hands sent her spiraling.

He laughed softly, rough and reverent. “Are you coming right now?” he breathed, pressing his thumb to her clit and circling until she broke apart.

Her answer came as a cry that tore through her. Her body convulsed, thighs quivering, release spilling hot and wild. She couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t bite back the sounds spilling from her lips. When it ended, she slumped against him, trembling, his hand still resting on her skin. He gathered her close, cradling her head against his chest, murmuring something tender she could barely hear through the haze. All she could do was cling to him, fingers weakly fisting in his shirt, lost in the fading rush of it.

Relief and safety filled the space between heartbeats. For a long moment she just breathed him in, letting the warmth of his body remind her that she was safe, wanted, loved. She's never needed him more than she has in this moment.

“Please, Sy, please,” she whispered, her voice wrecked but certain. “I’m ready. I promise. Please, oh please.” The words fell from her lips like prayer—desperate, trusting, real.

He hesitated only a moment, checking her again with careful fingers. She was open now, soft and ready for him. The thought made her heart race, the edges of fear dissolving into anticipation. When he shifted above her, his weight pressed down, steady and sure. His chest met hers, the warmth of him surrounding her completely. A soft kiss brushed her cheek, and the heaviness of him against her felt like safety itself.

His whisper came close to her lips. “Gonna use you now, kitten.”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. “I’m ready,” she whispered back, trembling but sure. “Use me.”

He kissed her once, then again, slower, lingering until her lips parted beneath his. His breath caught, his body trembling with restraint. The tip of him pressed against her, waiting, and she held her breath. Anticipation built with every heartbeat until he eased forward, sliding into her inch by inch. The stretch made her gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as ache turned to heat. The world disappeared until there was only him—his breath, his heartbeat, the sound of her name whispered against her skin. Each thrust rippled through her, each sound she made answered by his.

Time dissolved. Her voice rose with every motion, a sound caught between disbelief and surrender. It felt different this time—gentler, fuller, warmed by his care. Each thrust unspooled her defenses, showing her what it meant to be loved without fear. Her body clenched, trembled, then gave way again and again. Every kiss, every touch, was a confession.

When she came again, she sobbed out his name, undone, and he slowed, soothing her through the aftershocks until her shaking stilled. He continued, tender and unhurried, as if learning her by touch, by her sounds. Her moans softened to sighs as she melted beneath him. Between each kiss, she whispered his name, heavy with gratitude and love. His gaze never left hers, and when she met it, all she saw was love. Devotion.

Finally, he broke apart with a low, rough sound. She held him close through it, pressing him to her heart. When his tears fell, she felt them like tiny sparks against her skin—hot, startling, achingly tender. The realization stunned her, that this man who always held himself together was shedding tears... because of her.

The warmth of his tears mingled with her own until she was crying too, not from pain, but from joy. She whispered his name like prayer until his shuddering breaths eased, and their breaths aligned. He traced her back, whispering words she barely heard.

The world was quiet, their bodies warm and tangled in the stillness.

For the first time in forever, being intimate with someone felt like renewal—a surrender of fear, a healing flood of trust and love. She felt like she could believe in him. That he loved her. He trusted her. He wanted her. In that certainty, she finally felt whole.