It’s aboutpossession.
He waited. Controlled himself. Stalked the edges of desire without taking what he wanted.
Why?
Because once he has me… maybe he thinks I won’t matter anymore.
Maybe he’s afraid I’ll lose the shine that drew him to me in the first place.
That’s how obsession works. I’ve read the psychology. I’ve seen it up close in the men who used to grab my arm too tight at the diner. In the way my mother clung to any man who looked her way.
Obsession feeds on distance.
Keep him at an arm’s length and he’ll stay obsessed. Needing more and more until nothing satiates his hunger. Until he destroys me in an attempt to possess me.
So I’ll end it.
I’llruinthe fantasy.
I’ll give him what he hasn’t taken and watch the fire go out in his eyes.
And then I’ll be free.
Because if he sees me as just a woman, not a dream… maybe the spell will break.
Using my body to survive?
It won’t be the first time.
But this time, it’ll bemy choice.
I slide back onto the bed slowly, careful not to make a sound.
He’s still on his side, back to me. One hand tucked under his jaw, the other resting palm-up on the sheet like he’s offering me the world.
He doesn’t flinch as I shift closer. Doesn’t stir when I trail a single finger down the line of his spine.
Not yet.
I let my fingertip drift just below the waistband of his pants. His skin is warm. Firm. Unshakable.
But I’m not.
I am a live wire, buzzing with the weight of what I’m about to do. Electric in my need to control this. To take my power back in this fucked up situation.
I lean in, close enough to breathe his intoxicating scent. Amber, spice, and something richer underneath. Something dangerous. Like oil beneath a match, just waiting for ignition.
“Roman,” I whisper into the shell of his ear.
His breath catches, subtle but there. He’s awake now.
He doesn’t move.
“Good boy.”
I swing a leg over him and straddle his hips, placing my hands on his bare chest. His skin is flawless, golden in the early morning light. Too perfect. Too sculpted.
He still hasn’t opened his eyes.