“Breathe, sunflower. Just breathe.” His voice is low, steady, like it’s tethered to the center of the earth. I do as he says, not because I’m told to, but because I can. Because for once, the air doesn’t feel like glass in my lungs. For once, I’m not counting ceiling tiles or blinking in even numbers or bracing for the next invisible blow.
“You’re so big…” The words slip out, breathless, unfiltered. Not just about his body. About his presence. His weight in my life. The way he fills the space around me, like he was always meant to be there.
“You’ll get used to it, baby.” Kane doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. He just watches me like I’m something sacred. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, and I swear I could cry from the gentleness of it.
I nod as he continues to move, thrusting deeper each time. I can feel him everywhere now. He lifts my legs to his shoulders and pulls my hips in time with his.
He moves with purpose, with control, and I feel it everywhere—his rhythm, his weight, the way he draws me into his orbit like gravity. My legs are lifted, my body open, and I should feel exposed. I should feel overwhelmed.
But I don’t.
Because he’s not taking.
He’s anchoring.
And for the first time in forever, I’m not counting. I’m not scanning the room for exits. I’m not bracing for the moment it all falls apart.
I’m just here. With him.
Breathing.
Burning.
Belonging.
The storm outside rages on, but inside me, there’s only quiet. Not numbness. Not dissociation.
Peace.
And that’s the most dangerous part of all.
Because peace is addictive.
And Kane is the only one who’s ever given it to me.
My mind snaps back into place the moment I feel his gaze. It’s heavy. Intentional. Like he’s not just looking at me, he’s studying me. I blink, my throat dry. “You were watching me,” I whisper, voice rough.
He doesn’t blink. “I always watch what’s mine.”
My stomach twists. Not in fear. In something sharper. Something that feels like being seen too clearly.
“Do you say that to all your girls?” The words slip out before I can stop them, bitter and defensive. I regret them instantly.
His head tilts, slow and deliberate. “Other girls?”
I swallow hard. The box is open now—might as well let the contents spill. “I’ve just heard rumors,” I murmur. “That you’re a playboy on campus.”
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deny it. Just watches me with that same unreadable intensity.
“I see,” he says. “And do you believe everything you hear?”
I look away, suddenly ashamed. “No. But it’s hard not to wonder.”
He steps closer, and I feel the heat of him before I see the shift in his expression.
“Let me make something clear,” he says, voice low. “I don’t waste time on things I don’t want. I don’t chase what doesn’t matter. And I don’t watch anyone the way I watch you.”
My breath catches.
