Page 67 of Gathered Sparkle

“Because you’re ignoring what I tell you and repeating the bullshit someone else fed you instead.” His tone isn’t angry, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something protective, fierce. He doesn’t just want me. He wants me to see myself the way he does.

He pulls back to fully look at me, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of Sylus’s shirt. His knuckles brush the bare skin of my stomach, and heat pools low in my belly.

“Have I not told you how smart you are, how skilled, how sassy and funny…” His fingers inch higher, dragging the shirt with them. His voice is softer now, but the conviction in it is unshakable. “Have I somehow failed at making you understand how utterly precious you are to me?”

It’s not just a compliment. It’s a demand. A plea. A truth he won’t let me ignore. The words punch through my defenses, exposing something raw and making me swallow hard. “Koen, honestly, I’m a foster girl who made it to a pickpocketing stripper. I’m not—”

His hands glide up my ribs, his thumbs tracing the curve of my waist as he lifts the shirt over my head, cutting me off. It slips away, pooling beside us and leaving me bare from the waist up. My skin pebbles with goose bumps, but it has nothing to do with the air and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me.

“It doesn’t matter who fed you those lies. What matters is that you believe them.”

One of his hands cups my face again, his thumb sweeping gently over my cheekbone, but the other trails lower. His fingers ghost below the bandage on my arm, brushing the uninjured skin. He gave me some painkillers before dinner so it’s not hurting right now, but the softness of his touch feels like an apology, even though he doesn’t say it. I want to tell him it’s not his fault, and I don’t regret a damn thing that’s led me here to him. But I know Koen. He won’t believe me.

“I’m fine.” I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, lingering there as if I can press the words into his skin.

He pulls back and searches my eyes, measuring the truth of my words.

“I hate that you were hurt.” His fingers slightly tighten on my waist, not possessively, just steadily, like he needs the physical connection, to feel that I’m not lying, and I’m really fine. He slowly lifts his other hand to cup my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “Hate that I wasn’t there. Hate that I can’t go back and fix it.”

I exhale softly, reaching up to cover his hand with mine. “I don’t need you to fix it. I just need you to be here.”

His lips slightly part like he’s going to say something, but then he stops. Instead, he exhales through his nose, like he’s letting something go, and presses his forehead to mine. His breath is warm against my lips, and for a second, we just exist in the space between us.

Then, just as softly, he tilts up my chin and kisses me.

And like before, it’s not a desperate kiss, not rushed or hungry. It’s deep and slow and weighted with something heavier than lust that settles into my bones.

“Little Thief…” He quietly sighs as he pulls away and meets my eyes. Then he does something I don’t expect—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing quirk of his lips. A real, soft, barely-there smile, like he just made peace with something inside himself.

His thumb traces a slow path along my jaw, then down my throat, watching me like he’s cataloging every tiny reaction I have to his touch and marveling at the fact that I’m letting him have this. Letting him have me.

And then, he surprises me again by asking, “Ever heard of the stoplight system?”

I blink. “What?”

His touch travels downward, his thumb blazing a path over my collarbone as he explains. “When we’re intimate with each other, I want to know how you’re feeling. I tend to rely too hard on your bodily cues since it’s what I do.” His thumb continues its path down. “But maybe your body is on board with things yourmind isn’t. So I’m going to check in with you periodically and ask for your color.”

When his thumb draws achingly close to my nipple, he changes his touch and trails his fingertips down my bare arms. The touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice is serious, threaded with care. Consideration.

“Green means you’re enjoying things. Yellow means you’re okay but starting to get a little nervous. And red means stop, full out.” His voice dips lower, almost a growl. “If you ever say red, we stop immediately and figure out what went wrong, how we can redirect. Got it?”

I swallow thickly. No one’s ever asked me that before. No one’s ever cared enough to make sure I had an out. “Okay.” I nod, my mind spinning.

I’ve never had a guy this intense in the bedroom. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? This isn’t just sex. It’s not just the physical. This is Koen. And Koen is always intense. Always all in.

His hands slide up to my shoulders, and his thumbs draw reassuring circles on my skin. “I can’t press enough how important it is that you’re not lying to me when I ask for your color. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you feel uncomfortable.”

“Fuck, Koen. How fucking kinky are you?”

His lips twitch, the tension breaking for just a second. But there’s something heated in his eyes, too, something dark and possessive.

“I’m really not.” His hands skim down my sides, pausing above the waistband of Sylus’s sweatpants. “I just like to have control. You know that.”

I do. And I love it.

His fingers slip into the pants and lower them with deliberate slowness, every inch leaving me more exposed.

“And like I said,” he continues. “I tend to read your body before you even register what you’re feeling. I don’t want to unintentionally strip you of your choices.”

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