The dress hangs off my shoulders like a ghost.

Black silk. Cold against my skin. I stare at the mirror and don’t recognize the woman staring back.

Pale. Hollow-eyed. Lips pressed so tight they’ve turned white.

Kyle’s hands settle on my waist. Warm. Familiar. Safe.

“You’re miles away, Riles,” he murmurs.

I force a smile. The kind I’ve perfected over the past three months. The kind that says everything’s fine.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

He kisses my temple. Soft. Patient. The kind of man who loves quietly. Who plans birthdays. Who remembers how I take my coffee. He’s perfect.

He’s everything I’m supposed to want.

Except him.

Except Declan.

My stomach flips. A traitorous little twist of heat and guilt and something dangerously close to hunger.

I haven’t seen Declan in six weeks.

Six weeks of scrolling through old photos I shouldn’t have kept. Six weeks of biting my lip when his name flashes on my phone. Six weeks of pretending the memory of his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, his voice saying my name like a prayer and a threat all at once, doesn’t still make my thighs ache.

I push the thought down. Hard.

Dinner’s in an hour.

My mother’s cooking roast. My father’s setting the good china. Kyle’s in a charcoal suit that hugs his shoulders just right. We’re going to the Hendersons’. A nice family. Respectable. Safe.

The kind of life I’m supposed to have.

I smooth my hands over my hips. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It’s just dinner.

It’s just another Tuesday.

It’s not Declan.

The doorbell rings.

I jump. Kyle squeezes my waist. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I say again. My voice is thinner than I like.

He heads to the door. I follow, telling myself I’m just curious.

He opens it.

And the world stops.

Declan stands on the welcome mat.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in a black henley that does nothing to hide the corded muscle of his arms. A faded scar cuts through his left eyebrow. Another trails down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His jaw is set. His eyes are dark. Storm-heavy.

Former Marine posture. Shoulders back. Weight on one leg. Like he’s ready to move. Like he’s always ready to move.

My breath catches.

Kyle’s smile freezes. “Declan?”

Declan’s gaze slides past him. Straight to me.

It hits like a physical blow. Warm. Heavy. Possessive.

“Didn’t expect company,” he says. His voice is gravel wrapped in velvet. Rough. Low. It vibrates straight through my ribs.

My mother appears in the hallway. Her eyes go wide. “Declan? What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through town,” he lies. Smooth. Calm. The kind of man who’s spent years mastering his tells. “Thought I’d stop by. See how everyone’s doing.”

His eyes never leave mine.

I should look away. I should smile. I should say something normal.

Instead, I feel my pulse jump in my throat.

“Come in,” my father says, oblivious. “We’re about to sit down.”

Declan steps inside.

The air in the hallway thickens. I can smell him. Leather. Sandalwood. Something darker. Masculine. It wraps around me like a chain.

He moves past Kyle. Close enough that our shoulders brush. Close enough that I feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough that my name whispers on his breath.

I don’t hear it. But I feel it.

A spark. A promise. A warning.

We walk to the dining room together. Three steps behind. Silent. Heavy.

I sit between Kyle and the empty chair beside Declan. My thighs press together. Unconsciously. Desperately. Trying to hide the heat pooling low in my belly.

The table is set. Candles flicker. My mother talks about work. My father asks Declan about his business. Kyle asks about the weather.

Normal. Boring. Safe.

I don’t hear a word.

I feel Declan’s knee under the table. Slow. Deliberate. It brushes my thigh. Doesn’t move away.

I freeze.

Kyle notices. His fork clinks against the plate. “You’re quiet tonight, Riley.”

I look up. Force a smile. “Just tired.”

He studies me. Blue eyes sharp. Perceptive. He knows me. He knows when I’m lying.

But he doesn’t know about Declan.

He can’t.

Not yet.

Declan’s gaze locks onto mine under the table. Dark. Unblinking. Possessive. He shifts his leg. Presses closer. Just enough to feel the weight of him. Just enough to make my breath hitch.

My mother clears her throat. “So, Declan. What brings you to Seattle?”

“Investment,” he says. Smooth. Casual. “Real estate. Development.”

A lie.

I know it’s a lie.

He wouldn’t cross state lines for property. Not unless it was me. Not unless it was this.

Kyle’s knuckles whiten around his wine glass. He’s noticed the tension. The way Declan’s knee never leaves my thigh. The way Declan watches me when he thinks I’m looking away. The way I don’t look away when I know he’s watching.

“You’ve been distant,” Kyle says suddenly. Quiet. Low. Only meant for me.

I force a sip of water. “I’ve been busy. Wedding planning. Work. You know.”

He nods. But his eyes don’t soften. They sharpen.

Declan’s voice cuts through the quiet. “She’s been looking at her phone.”

I drop my glass. Water spills across the tablecloth. Dark. Spreading. Like guilt.

My mother gasps. Kyle jumps up. “I’ll get napkins.”

Declan doesn’t move. He just stares at me. Like he’s memorizing the way my cheeks burn. Like he’s cataloging the way my hands shake.

“I’ll help,” he says. Stands. Pulls his chair back. The scrape echoes.

He walks past me. Close. So close his arm brushes my shoulder. His breath ghosts over my ear.

“Stop pretending,” he murmurs. Low. Rough. Intimate. “I know you feel it too.”

My heart hammers. I don’t look at him. I can’t.

He leaves the room.

Kyle returns with a stack of napkins. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I say. Again. The word tastes like ash.

Dinner continues. Forced. Stilted. My parents chat. Declan answers politely. Kyle watches me.

Every time Declan speaks, I feel his words like a touch. Every time I glance at him, his eyes are already on me. Like a magnet. Like a trap. Like I’ve already fallen.

I’m drowning.

And he’s the only one holding my head under.

The meal ends. Plates are cleared. Coffee is poured. My mother asks Declan to stay for dessert. He agrees.

I excuse myself. “I’ll be right back.”

I don’t go to the living room. I don’t go to the bathroom.

I go to the kitchen.

The door clicks shut behind me. I lean against the counter. Chest heaving. Hands trembling. Skin on fire.

I close my eyes.

I hear the door open.

I don’t turn around.

Boots on tile. Slow. Deliberate. Heavy.

He stops behind me.

The air changes. Thins. Sparks.

I feel him before I see him. Heat. Weight. Presence.

His hands settle on my waist. Not gentle. Not asking permission. Claiming.

“Riley,” he breathes. My name like a curse. Like a prayer.

I turn.

He’s already looking at me. Dark. Hungry. Brooding. The scar above his eye pulls tight when he scowls. His jaw is clenched. His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths.

He’s a storm contained in skin.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer. He steps closer. Closes the distance. His hands slide up my ribs. Under the black silk. Warm palms against bare skin. I shiver.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says. Voice rough. “Three weeks of silence. One text. A call you let go to voicemail.”

“I have a life,” I say. Weak. Pathetic. “A fiancé. A wedding. A future.”

He laughs. Low. Dark. Dangerous. “A future?”

His thumb brushes my lower lip. I part my mouth. Can’t help it.

“Don’t,” I warn.

He doesn’t stop. “Don’t what? Look at you? Touch you? Remember how you taste? How you sound when I take you apart?”

My breath catches. Heat floods my core. I’m so wet. So fucking desperate. I hate it. I crave it.

He sees it. Of course he does.

His grip tightens. Pulls me against him. I feel his hardness through his jeans. Thick. Heavy. Unmistakable.

I gasp.

“Fuck,” he curses. Eyes darkening. “You’re killing me, Riles.”

“I’m engaged,” I say. Voice shaking. “To Kyle.”

He doesn’t care. He never has.

His hand slides down. Over my hip. Under the hem of my dress. Fingers brushing bare skin. I arch into it. Immediately. Shamelessly.

He groans. Low. Visceral. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Even when you’re trying to leave me.”

“Stop,” I whisper. But I don’t pull away. I can’t.

His hand finds my center. Through fabric. Through everything. He presses. Firm. Slow. Circular.

I whimper. Head falls back. Eyes squeeze shut.

“Look at me,” he commands. Rough. Possessive.

I open my eyes.

His stare burns. “You think I came here for real estate? You think I’m staying in town for convenience?”

I shake my head. Barely. “No.”

His thumb presses harder. I cry out. Muffled. Quick. I bite my lip. Hard.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say you want me.”

“I can’t,” I breathe. “Kyle… my family…”

“Fuck your family,” he snaps. “Fuck the wedding. You’ve been drowning. I see it. I feel it. Every time you look at me, you’re begging me to pull you under.”

His hand moves faster. Deeper. I’m trembling. Legs giving out. I grip his shoulders. Dig my nails into his henley.

He catches my wrist. Pins it. Pulls me flush against him.

The heat of him. The weight of him. The sheer force of his presence. It’s suffocating. It’s salvation.

“You’re mine,” he says. Voice dropping. Raw. Vulnerable beneath the aggression. “You’ve been mine since the first time I touched you. Since the first time I couldn’t let you go.”

My breath hitches. Tears prick my eyes. Not from sadness. From surrender.

I want him. God help me, I want him so badly it hurts.

He sees it. Softens. Just for a second. His thumb slows. His grip loosens. His forehead rests against mine.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs. Voice rough. Quiet. “But I can’t walk away. Not anymore. Not when you look at me like that. Not when you taste like heaven and sin all at once.”

I shake my head. “I’m supposed to love him.”

“You’re supposed to love me,” he corrects. Firm. Unyielding.

His hand slips lower. Fingers pushing through damp fabric. Parting me. Finding my slick heat. I gasp. Back arches. He catches me. Holds me.

“Let go,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

I don’t resist. I can’t.

He slides two fingers inside me. Deep. Thick. Stretching me. Filling me. I cry out. Muffled against his shoulder.

He groans. “Fuck. You’re so tight. So perfect.”

His fingers curl. Hit a spot deep inside. I shatter. Knees buckle. He catches me. Presses me against the counter. Hard. Unforgiving.

His cock presses against my stomach through his jeans. Hard. Aching. Desperate.

“Take me,” he commands. Voice breaking. “Please, Riley. I need it. I need you.”

I don’t think. I don’t fight. I drop to my knees.

The floor is cold. My dress rides up. His hands grip my hair. Not yanking. Guiding.

He unbuckles his belt. Zipper down. He pushes his jeans and underwear down. Just enough.

His cock springs free. Thick. Veined. Heavy. Already leaking. I stare. Breath caught.

He’s beautiful. Brutal. Perfect.

He threads his fingers through my hair. Tilts my head back. “Suck it.”

I open my mouth. Take him in.

He’s hot. Solid. Impossibly thick. I gag. Just once. He stills.

“Breathe,” he warns. Voice strained. “Don’t choke. I’m not leaving you. I’m yours. Just take it.”

I relax. Open wider. Swallow him.

He groans. Back hits the cabinets. Hands tightening in my hair.

I move. Slow. Deep. Taking him to the hilt. Tongue circling the head. Sucking. Licking. Swallowing.

He’s trembling. I can feel it. The restraint. The Marine control cracking.

“Fuck,” he curses. “You’re gonna kill me, Riles.”

I hum against him. The vibration makes him gasp. His balls tighten. Heavy. Full.

I take him deeper. Faster. One hand on his thigh. The other wrapped around his base. Stroking. Sucking. Swallowing.

He’s losing it. I can feel it. The tension. The hunger. The raw, unfiltered need.

“Look up,” he demands. Voice ragged.

I do.

His eyes are dark. Swollen. Vulnerable. Scars mapping pain and survival and something dangerously close to devotion.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispers. “Not ever.”

His hips snap forward. Hard. Deep. I take it all. Gag slightly. Tears prick. I don’t stop.

He’s mine. I’m his. It’s that simple. It’s that impossible.

He pulls me up. One arm around my waist. The other gripping my ass. Squeezing. Pulling me flush against him.

He kisses me.

Hard. Desperate. Mouth claiming mine. Tongue sweeping. Tasting. Devouring.

I kiss back. Fists in his shirt. Nails in his back. Needing. Craving. Drowning in him.

He breaks the kiss. Breath ragged. Lips swollen. “I need to feel you. Now. Against me. In me. Everywhere.”

He lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist. Automatically. Instinctively. He carries me to the island. Sets me down. Turns me. Pulls my dress up. Hips over the edge.

I’m on my hands and knees. Ass in the air. Dress bunched at my waist. Exposed. Open.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hand slides under me. Fingers finding my soaked slit. Stretching. Prepping. I whimper. Press back against him.

He lines himself up. The head of his cock presses against my entrance. Wet. Hot. Ready.

He looks at me. Eyes dark. Commanding. “Tell me you want it.”

“I do,” I breathe. “Please, Declan. I need it.”

He thrusts in.

Deep. Hard. Unforgiving.

I cry out. Head dropping. Hands gripping the counter. Back arching.

He’s inside me. Thick. Stretching. Filling every empty space. Every hollow ache. Every place he’s lived in my mind for weeks.

He stills. Just for a second. Breathing hard. Forehead resting against my shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. Voice rough. Tender. “I’ve got you, Riles.”

Then he moves.

Thrusts. Hard. Fast. Deep. Each stroke hitting that sweet spot. Each pull dragging a gasp from my throat.

His hand finds my clit. Rubs. Circles. Presses.

I shatter.

It builds. Fast. Relentless. A wave crashing over me. Pulling me under.

He feels it. Groans. Hips stuttering. “Fuck. You’re coming. Again. For me.”

I nod. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can only feel.

His thrusts grow erratic. Desperate. Possessive. Like he’s trying to brand me from the inside.

I climax hard. Screaming his name. Muffled against my arms. Body shaking. Clenching around him.

He follows. Instantly. Deep. Hard. Unrelenting.

His cock pulses. Spits cum. Hot. Thick. Deep inside me. I feel every drop. Every shudder. Every release.

He collapses against me. Heavy. Breathing ragged. Arms wrapped around me. Holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.

I’m trembling. Legs weak. Heart pounding. Skin on fire.

He’s inside me. Still. Buried deep. Cum leaking. Heat spreading.

We don’t move.

We don’t speak.

We just breathe. Together.

His hand slides up my back. Over the silk. Over bare skin. Resting at my nape. Pulling me back against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Voice raw. Vulnerable. “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have made you choose. But I couldn’t walk away. Not when you look at me like I’m your oxygen.”

I turn in his arms. Face against his chest. Heart hammering against my ribs.

“I don’t want him,” I whisper. “I never did. Not really. I was trying to be good. Trying to be safe. But you… you’re not safe. You’re everything.”

He kisses my hair. Tightens his grip. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever. I’ll fight you. I’ll beg you. I’ll burn the whole world down if I have to. But you’re mine. And I’m yours.”

I close my eyes. Let myself believe it. Just for a second.

The kitchen door creaks.

We both freeze.

Footsteps on tile. Slow. Deliberate.

A shadow falls across the island.

Kyle stands in the doorway.

Eyes wide. Face pale. Holding a tray of coffee mugs.

He stares.

At us.

At Declan.

At my dress hiked up.

At my lips swollen.

At Declan’s hand on my waist.

At the wetness on my thighs.

At the cum leaking down my legs.

The tray slips.

Ceramic shatters.

Coffee splashes across the floor.

Kyle doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t speak.

Declan doesn’t let go of me. Just shifts his weight. Steps in front of me. A wall. A shield. A storm.

His voice cuts through the silence. Low. Dangerous. Final.

“Get out.”