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We lie sprawled on the mattress, talking. I ask him about his family, his mom, and what it was like for him growing up. Our fingers play together as he allows his words to ramble on. I love it. Casper talks a lot, but never like this—like he’s letting me into his past.

He’s stretched out on his side, propped up on one elbow, eyes somewhere above me like he’s watching the memory play out, delving back into his childhood to the days when he hid in closets.

“What would you do in there?” I ask.

He smiles. “I drew on the walls a lot. Mom let me, as long as I kept it inside the closet.”

The corner of my mouth tilts up, but mostly my heart aches for him.

“You didn’t get cramped in there?”

Casper shakes his head. “Confined quarters have never bothered me.”

He goes on to tell me about living in his car after he aged out.

“That’s your safe space, isn’t it?” His personality shows through with his car, unlike this house.

His gaze lingers on me. “You’re my safe space.”

That’s when it clicks . . . the blanket fort.

If this tent wasn’t here, the room would be too big. He wasn’t lying—there’s no clutter. Even his furniture is minimal. There’s no sign that anyone actually lives here. But this? The canvas walls, blankets, the way he’s drawn everything inward until it feels small and tucked away . . . that’s Casper. He grew up hiding in closets and under beds, making refuges for himself in the nooks and crannies.

This is his way of doing that tonight. My heart melts into a puddle. He made this for us.

I bite the corner of my lip, and the tension between us shifts from heartfelt to hungry. It’s the kind of moment that stretches a little too long.

My pulse tics faster, just like it always does when he looks at me, only this time, there’s an awareness that expands in my chest, like my body understands it before I do. It’s more than attraction, curiosity, sex . . . it’s the way he breathes life into me when he’s near. The way he shows me new experiences and makes me feel comfortable enough to tell him everything. He shelters my vulnerability and makes space for it. The realization has me sucking in a breath.

I love him.

All of him, the sharp edges, the quiet intensity when he’s tattooing, the encouragement before a freefall, the laughter when he pushes me on a swing, the dark eyes that look up at me when he’s between my thighs.

I push up onto my elbow, mirroring him. My voice feels caught somewhere between my chest and my throat. Everything feels different.

“Casper—”

My breath catches as he leans in, his fingers skating along my jaw, warm and steady before sinking into my hair. He moves his mouth over mine in a way that feels impossibly familiar, like he’s awakened a dormant section of my soul that has always belonged to him. I think, on some level, this was our destiny, we just had to wait to find each other on the same path, in the same lifetime, at the exact moment we were finally ready. Not because I was incomplete without him, or vice versa, but because some pieces of us only know how to come alive together.

His thumb presses to my bottom lip, reminding me of our night on the rooftop, and my pussy clenches at the memory. He smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Come on, Duchess . . . I want to see that composure slip.”

Pushing him to his back, I straddle his waist and grip the hem of his shirt, pushing it up as I work my way down, kissing his chest and tracing my tongue over the artwork scrawled across his skin.

His groan excites me. The way his hand slides to the back of my neck, guiding me lower. I scoot down his thighs, unbuttoning his jeans, and he lifts his ass, allowing me to strip his boxers and pants, setting the thick cock I love free.

I sit up on my knees, grabbing the bottom of my shirt and tugging it over my head. Then I shimmy out of my leggings and bra until I’m in nothing but my thong.

“Tap when you’re close,” I purr.

I flip around so I’m facing his feet, allowing his piercings to roll over my tongue instead of the roof of my mouth, and it gives him a nice view.

My first lick down the side of his cock has him grunting and thrusting upward. I brace myself on my elbows as I take him into my mouth, down to the base and up to the head, sucking and flicking my tongue over the crown.

I don’t have to put on a show for him . . . I just happen to enjoy his applause.

CASPER