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“Dylan,” I say. “Stop.”

He stops immediately, pulls out, his breathing ragged. “What’s wrong?”

“No.” I roll onto my back and look up at him. His face is flushed, his hair a mess, his gray dark with desire and concern. “I want to see you when I come.”

He moves over me, positioning himself between my legs, and when he pushes back inside it’s different. Better. Because now I can see his face. Can see the way his eyes close for a moment at the sensation. See the way his jaw clenches with restraint, and the way he looks at me when his eyes open again, like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.

He moves.

Slow, deep thrusts that make my back arch and my hands clutch his shoulders.

His forearms are braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and his eyes never leave mine. This is intimacy I didn’t know existed. This is vulnerability I’ve never experienced. This is him seeing me and me seeing him, and both of us being completely present in this moment.

“June,” he says again, and this time it’s not a prayer. It’s a confession. “I love you.”

I pull him down and kiss him. Deep and slow and full of everything I can’t say out loud. He kisses me back, and his hips never stop moving, never stop that perfect rhythm that’s building me up again toward something huge.

I can feel him getting close.

His thrusts are losing their perfect control, becoming more urgent, more desperate. His kiss turns harder, needier. And I’m right there with him, climbing toward something that feels bigger than just physical pleasure.

“I love you,” he says against my mouth, and the words break something open inside me.

I come. Hard. The orgasm crashes through me, making my whole body tighten and release, and I feel him come too, pulsing inside me, and we‘re kissing through it, breathing into each other’s mouths, sharing this moment in a way that feels sacred.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, when my breath and voice returns.

We lie there afterward, still connected, both of us breathing hard. His weight is on me, but it doesn‘t feel crushing. It feels right. Like this is exactly where he‘s supposed to be.

Eventually he pulls out carefully and rolls to the side, immediately pulling me into his arms. I go willingly, curling against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. His heart is pounding against my ear. His hand strokes up and down my spine in long, soothing movements.

This is contentment. This is safety. Everything I didn’t know I needed.

But underneath it, there’s fear.

Because we’re not safe. We‘re hiding in a cheap motel room while the Sons of Sorrow hunt for us. We have limited cash. No plan. No backup. No guarantee that tomorrow we’ll still be alive.

The contentment curdles. My breathing goes a little faster. My muscles tense against him.

“Hey,” Wraith says. “What’s wrong?”

I don‘t want to ruin this moment. I want to stay in this bubble where nothing exists except the two of us and the way his arms feel around me and the taste of him still on my lips.

But I can’t.

Because New June is responsible.

And responsible June asks the hard questions.

“How are we going to get out of this?”

His hand resumes its stroking. Slow. Steady. But I can feel the tension enter his body at my question.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not yet.” His arms tighten around me. “But I’ll figure something out.”