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Tremors rack my body, my legs threatening to give out. I’ve spent so long holding myself together, I’ve forgotten how to fall apart.

Because I was scared.

But I’m not anymore.

Brandon will catch every piece.

“Let go.” His thumb circles my clit. “I’m right here.”

I shatter, my vision whitening out as the pleasure breaks me apart, breaks me free.

Bit by bit.

I’m distantly aware of him following, my name a groan on his lips, his arms embracing me, and his weight pressing me further into the mattress. I cling to him. To this moment.

All that exists is here, this intimacy that goes far beyond physical. It’s raw, intense, and utterly consuming. And it feels so damn good.

My heartbeat slows, the panting transforming into breathing, and my body burrowing into the soft sheets.

Maybe Dr. Patel was right. Maybe safety isn’t about control at all.

The candles have burned lower, casting long shadows across the walls, making this moment feel suspended in time.

Maybe it’s about trust. About letting someone see all your broken pieces and trusting them to love you anyway.

Brandon’s eyes find mine.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m ready.

To my horror, hot tears streak down my cheeks.

This isn’t supposed to happen, is it?

THIRTY-ONE

BRANDON

Tears glisten on Naomi’s cheeks, catching the soft candlelight and making them look like liquid gold. Her body trembles beneath me, aftershocks rippling through her muscles and the silk sheets clinging to her sweat-dampened skin.

She blinks up at me, her eyes hazy and unfocused in the dim light.

Naomi doesn’t cry. Not like this. I’ve seen her hold it together through board meetings, family dinners, and every Thursday night at Elliot’s. But now…

I dip my head on instinct, my tongue catching the salt of her tears. She gasps, her body tensing beneath mine.

“Don’t.” She turns away, but I catch more tears tracking down her cheeks, glinting in the candlelight.

“Why not?” I follow the wet trail, savoring her shiver. “Scared I’ll see you’re actually human under all that ice?”

“Fuck you.” But her fingers dig into my shoulders, holding me closer even as she tries to push me away.

“Already did, cupcake.” My lips press to her temple, slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. “Quite thoroughly.”

She lets out a strangled sound, caught between laughter and tears. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” My thumb swipes another tear. “You hate that I make you feel.”

“Stop analyzing me.”

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