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A slow, knowing smile touches his mouth, his gaze locked on mine as he murmurs, “What does it look like I’m doing, kitten?”

“Do you want to fuck me, Ethan?”

He steps closer, until his cock presses firmly against my stomach, and the contact alone is enough to pull a ragged breath from my lungs.

God, I love feeling him like this. It’s as if something inside him slips, as if the controlled, composed version of Ethan fades, revealing a more dangerous side—raw, restrained only by a thread, driven by a hunger he doesn’t bother hiding from me.

“You know I do, Thalia,” he breathes against my skin, his lips brushing along my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Then prove it,” I whisper back.

His hands slide along my sides, firm, possessive, anchoring me in place as my breath catches.

Every movement, every press of his body against mine sends need spiraling through me, gathering low in my stomach. The tension between us coils, charged, almost unbearable.

Ethan leans in again, capturing my lips in a slow, sensual kiss that turns demanding within seconds, his hands drifting lower, mapping all my curves with a growing urgency that makes my pulse race.

I arch into him instinctively, chasing more—more contact, more of whatever this is that keeps pulling me under.

“Prove it?” he murmurs, a rough edge slipping into his tone as his lips brush mine. “You don’t feel it, kitten? I want you all the damn time.”

I exhale softly as my fingers slide into his hair, pulling him closer.

The air between us thickens, every second stretching, every touch igniting a desire impossible to ignore.

He presses fully into me this time, leaving no space between our bodies, and the intensity of him wipes out any coherent thought I might have had. There’s nothing else left—just this, just him, just the need we’ve stopped pretending isn’t there.

“How much do you want this, hmm?” he asks, his voice dropping low, darker, yet no less intense.

“You know I want you, Ethan,” I breathe, my voice unsteady, giving him exactly what he’s pulling out of me. “So much.”

That familiar, dangerous amusement flickers all over his face, teasing and provoking, as his fingers lift and glide lightly along my throat.

The touch is barely there at first—a ghost of contact that makes my skin prickle—before it drifts lower, tracing over my breasts, down the line of my abdomen, unhurried, deliberate… until he steps back.

Slowly. Intentionally.

He withdraws inch by agonizing inch, his hands falling away from me as if nothing just passed between us.

Shocked, I lift my gaze, watching him as he moves, confusion running through me. He catches it instantly, a quiet, almost amused exhale leaving him as he continues stepping back.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the kitchen island, the soft violet glow spilling over him, casting shadows that make the whole scene feel unreal—straight out of a dream I’m not ready to wake from.

His entire house echoes him. Every surface, every detail carries his presence, and standing here, right in the middle of it, it’s impossible not to feel completely surrounded by him.

“Can you undress for me?” he asks, leaning back against the island, posture loose, his tone calm—but there’s an edge underneath it that lights the air between us all over again.

My breath falters, quickening as a trace of nerves rises unexpectedly.

He’s seen me naked so many times, in so many ways, and still—every single time I stand in front of him like this, the same reaction hits me. That mix of anticipation and tension, sharp and consuming, settling between my legs.

Every time his eyes lock on me like this, every time I become the sole focus of his attention, I feel the need to deflect—to say something, to break the intensity before it digs too deep.

But now that I’ve agreed to whatever this is—friends with benefits, sex partners, or whatever name he decides fits—I know I can’t keep avoiding it. I have to hold it. Own it.

So I keep my gaze locked on his and move sensually, raising a hand to my mouth as if I’m actually considering his request.

“Hmm, I don’t know, Ethan,” I say, my tone light, edged with playful defiance. “It’s late, I took part in an illegal street race, I got arrested…”