The words leave before I can stop them.
Silence. He freezes.
My eyes squeeze shut, my teeth sinking into my lower lip until it stings. What am I doing? Why did I say that?
It doesn't matter. He doesn't—
Heat. Suddenly, he's behind me.
His arms lock around my waist—firm, unyielding—pulling me back against him. My bare skin meets the hard line of his body, and the contrast makes my breath hitch. His breath brushes my ear, warm, uneven, too close.
I'm still naked. The realization hits all at once—sharp, vulnerable, inescapable.
"Say it again."
His voice is low. Controlled. Not soft. Not gentle. An order.
I turn slowly within his hold, my movements careful, like anything too sudden might break whatever this is.
"What?"
Why does he want to hear it again?
A knock sounds at the door—Jason. The sound cuts through the moment, but neither of us moves.
His hand tightens at my waist, fingers pressing into me just enough to remind me I'm not going anywhere. Not until he decides.
Waiting.
A strange heaviness settles over me—quiet, suffocating. The kind of sadness that doesn't crash in, but seeps in slowly until it fills everything.
And despite myself… I lean back into him. Melt into the heat of his body. It's ironic. The same body he uses like armor—like a shield against everything he refuses to feel—is the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
"I said…"
My voice comes out softer this time. Fragile. Almost unrecognizable.
"I love you."
The words linger between us. It sounds to me more like defeat than a confession. Maybe because it is. Too quiet. Too real. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't mean anything to him.
But saying it—even once—feels like something I needed to do. For me. Not for him.
I look away, blinking hard against the sting building in my eyes, refusing to let it spill.
###
He is furious. Whatever reason she has—she won't tell him.
Fine. Better that way. The anger burns hot, controlled—but rising too fast. Too close to the surface.
He needs to leave.
Now.
"I love you."
The words hit from behind him.
Everything stops.
Not gradually.
All at once.
The heat—the anger—gone.
Like it was never there.
His pulse shifts, sharp and sudden. Not calm. Not controlled.
Something else. Something he doesn't recognize fast enough to suppress. What did she just say?
He turns.
Moves without thinking.
His hand finds her waist, pulling her back against him—firm, unyielding. Grounding. Possession. Control.
"Say it again."
His voice is low. Not soft. A command.
She tilts her head up, confusion flickering across her face. "What?"
A knock at the door. Jason. Wrong timing. Irrelevant.
His gaze never leaves her. She turns slightly toward the sound—but her body stays against his. Leans into him. Like she belongs there.
When she looks back—it's there again. That look. The same one from before. Soft. Unsteady. Breaking. Then it spreads—quietly—across her expression. Not fear. Not hesitation.
Something heavier. Something final.
She looks away. And suddenly—it feels like a goodbye.
Something tightens in his chest. Sharp. Unfamiliar. Unacceptable.
He frowns.
"I said…" Her voice is barely audible.
"I love you."
The words land differently this time. Not desperate. Not rushed. Something else.
Quieter. Heavier. What is this?
A knock cuts through the silence.
He turns her back to him, fingers sliding under her chin, lifting it just enough.
He studies her. Really studies her. This woman.
Dangerous in ways he doesn't fully understand.
Like everything about her—her emotions aren't simple.
Layered. Complex.
A puzzle. One he hasn't been able to solve. And hasn't stopped trying to.
His lips part—
Another knock. Sharper this time. Then another.
The moment fractures.
He releases her abruptly and crosses the room in two strides. The door opens. Clothes. Jason. The door shuts again.
The room closes back in. He tosses the clothes onto the sofa without looking.
Then he's back in front of her. Too fast. Too close. Like distance isn't an option.
His hand closes around her waist, pulling her into him again—firm, unyielding.
"Love?" he repeats, low.
Not a question. A test. His thumb tilts her chin higher, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"You don't."
The words are calm. Measured. Final.
But he doesn't let go. His grip tightens instead.
"You walked in here for something," he continues, voice steady, controlled. "Not me."
A beat.
His eyes narrow slightly. "What is it?"
No softness. No acknowledgment.
Only pressure.
Only control.
And still—
he hasn't stepped away.