I WAKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT TO BASH’S MOUTH trailing over my bare skin. We spent the entire evening wrapped up in each other and crashed with the sheets tangled at our feet.

    I have no idea what time it is now. All I know is that his massive master bedroom is illuminated only by silvery moonlight and he looks fucking stunning all lit up like this.

    He kisses my shoulder and I sigh, trailing the tips of my fingers over his muscled back.

    “What are you doing?” I whisper, watching the silhouette of his head move across my chest, lips dragging reverently over my corbone.

    “Admiring you.” His wordse out quiet, raspy, heartachingly tender. “You looked so fucking pretty. Sleeping in my bed, all these delicious curves on disy. I couldn’t help myself.”

    My eyes flutter shut, and I hum with contentment. I feel better about myself than I ever have, but hearing Bash talk about my body like this? It’s addictive.

    It’s healing.

    He kisses my breasts. My ribs. My stomach. My hips.

    And then he moves back up, hugging me tight and resting his head against my chest. My heart hammers, and I wonder if he can hear it beating wildly under his attention.

    “Thank you,” I whisper. And I don’t borate. I don’t need to. He knows. I think he’s always known and he’s always seen me differently than my father did.

    Where my father found faults, Bash only finds beauty. And he doesn’t even need to try. I could tell by the way he looked at me the first time I invited myself to sit down with him.

    “I’m always in your corner, Gwen. You ever need a pick-me-up? I’m your guy.”

    I hug him back,bing my fingers through his mussed hair with a satisfied smile.

    I wonder if this is what it feels like to be loved.

    And at the very least, I fall asleep feeling incredibly fortunate that this guy—out of all of them—has decided to be mine.hr

    I tidy the studio and my thoughts drift to Bash, as they often have over the past couple of weeks.

    It’s like my brain has been rewired with constant thoughts of him, my body reliving memories of thest time we touched. If I thought I was obsessed with him before, I knew nothing. I’m so obsessed that, on a whim, I followed up with the resort in Costa Rica and told them I wouldn’t being—something I still need to confess to Bash.

    All I know is that I have to trust my gut. And my gut says I belong here, with him.

    This feeling now? It’s iparable. Consuming. And it’s all new. Everything between us feels perfect.

    Perhaps just a little too perfect. As life has taught me, nothing really is. There are ups and downs. There are incredibly bright moments, always bnced by the memory of a loss, the feeling of something being iplete. Or in this case, the constant knowledge that there’s an elephant in the room that neither of us wants to look at—let alone talk about.

    I stack the wooden blocks on the shelf in the corner, humming to myself as I do, attempting to put myself in Bash’s shoes.

    He’s finally let himself admit he wants this, in his own way, of course. But giving in to temptation—for a man as honorable as him—says it all.

    On the other hand, I can’t help but notice him checking his phone. Anytime I’ve asked if he’s heard from Tripp since that night on the balcony, his response is somewhat dismissive.

    It’s always Oh yeah, we swapped a text but nothing more than that. I may not have firsthand experience withplicated father-son family dynamics, but I know secrets weigh on a person. I know they are not good for the soul. And whether or not Bash admits it, I know this is eating away at him. Possibly more than he even realizes.

    It’s something I need to broach with him—soon. But everything between us still feels so tenuous, so fragile and new. Like the slightest gust of wind could push us off course.

    I sanitize and reroll the yoga mats, losing myself in thoughts of how I can best support Bash through an awkward moment or a painful conversation.

    He is the human embodiment of that old saying you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

    I need to convince Bash he’s thirsty, that he needs this off his chest. That much like giving in to the pull between us, clearing his conscience of this perceived deception will only make him feel better in the long haul, even if it doesn’t feel very good right now.

    I’m mulling this over when a jingle at the front door draws my attention.

    “Be right there,” I call out, knowing there’s no ss again for about two hours.

    I roll up thest mat and slide it onto the shelf, dusting my hands off on my leggings. When I turn, I realize that the person from the front is now in the studio. And that person is Bash.

    Shoulder propped against the doorframe, arms crossed, he watches me hungrily. That electric current I’ve grown ustomed to feeling around him pulses through my limbs, growing stronger as I take him in.

    He’s in uniform. I make a show of checking him out, biting my bottom lip as I do.

    Navy cargo pants. That matching BC Fire Service T-shirt—the one that hugs his shoulders and biceps in the very best way. Clunky, ck boots nted on the studio floor. It should be illegal to look that good and that heroic all at once.

    When I finally meet his gaze, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

    “Coming to see my girl,” he responds, but he makes no move toward me. He just continues standing there, staring at me.

    I grin. “In that uniform? You’re a filthy tease, Rousseau. I hope you know that.”

    “Sorry, I’ve been called out to a bushfire. I don’t think I’ll be gone too long, but I wanted toe check on you before I left.”

    “Check on me or parade around in that slutty little outfit?”

    He smirks and my panties disintegrate.

    I have no doubt that he knows what he does to me. Watching him fly a ne had been hot as hell, but watching him fly a ne in literally any type of uniform would just be over-the-top.

    “I don’t know. Maybe a bit of both,” he confesses.

    “How long will you be away?” I saunter toward him, unable to resist the pull. “I feel like I might miss you.”

    He quirks a brow. “Oh yeah?”

    I nod and draw up close, sliding one hand over his rib cage. With him tucked against me, I turn us just enough to close the door behind him and flick the lock shut.

    His face remains impassive, but I can read the question in his eyes. It says Gwen, what the fuck are you up to now? Because he knows I’m full of antics, and I think that’s one of the things he likes about me.

    My hands roam from his waist, running up and back down for a second before reaching for my shirt and tugging it up over my head. My boobs are strapped down tight in a heavy-duty sports bra, but even this setup can’t contain my cleavage, and all it takes is one look for Bash to let out a groan.

    “Guinevere, what are you doing?”

    I smirk and ditch the bra too. “Giving you a parting gift.”

    “Fuck,” he groans. “This is not helping me want to leave.”

    I shoot him a sultry wink. “Gotta keep youing back for more.”

    He sobers for a beat. “I’m never going to get enough. I can promise you that much. I’ll always being back to you.”

    I swallow, struck by the sincerity in his words. I’ve never wanted to stay in one ce until now. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m desperate for it to be here. With him.

    The realization brings me a sense of peace I’ve never felt before. Like I’m not just rushing through life, trying to get to the next ce. Running from my past and desperately searching for a ce I belong. Suddenly, I don’t have anywhere else to be.

    I’m right where I belong.

    And with that in mind, I offer him a soft smile and drop to my knees. “A little extra motivation never hurt anyone.”

    His head tips back on a groan as I work on his pants. Button, zipper, boxers. When I pull them down, his big hard cock springs free and I lick my lips. I peek up at him again, and he’s watching me. Always watching me.

    I wrap my palm around his length and squeeze.

    “I think the only thing this will aplish is making me not want to leave, Gwen.”

    I pump. “It will give you something to think about while you’re at work.”

    “If I think about this, I’ll crash my ne,” he replies absently, his gaze flitting behind me. I turn to follow his line of sight and realize that he’s watching us in the mirror. Him standing above me. Me kneeling at his feet, topless, with his dick in my hands.

    With a knowing smirk on my lips, I shuffle, turning us slightly, so he can watch us in profile. Then I take him in my mouth. Palms t against his muscr thighs, I swallow his steely length, going far enough that I almost gag.

    “Fuuckkk,” he hisses, lifting my hair with his fist and flexing his hips.

    Myshes flutter and I swallow, working to take all of him. I love when he takes control like this.

    I pull back off with a wet popping noise and stare up at him. His chest heaves, the navy fabric of his shirt stretching in the most alluring way between his broad shoulders, as I open my mouth and stick my tongue out in offering. He turns to take in the view in the mirror, shaking his head slightly as I stay in position.

    “You’re such a filthy little tease. And it’s hot as hell, baby. Never change.”

    He slowly presses his cock into my mouth, my lips suctioned tight as I hum in satisfaction. Watching him feel so undone over me is the ultimate high.

    “This hot little mouth.” He thrusts again, my cheeks hollowing out as he does. “Un-fucking-beatable.”

    I preen, eyes boring into him, saying what my mouth can’t right now—that I fucking love this.

    I tten my tongue, letting him use me. The smooth heat of him fills me, bumping into the back of my throat. My eyes water and I meet his every thrust, always eager for more with him. I grip his thighs, holding on for the ride as he smooths his knuckles over my cheeks, looking at me with so much love in his eyes.

    “That’s it, Gwen. Suck it.” His words are choppy, his breathingbored. He nces in the mirror again, as though he can’t decide which view he prefers. “So fucking pretty like this.”

    I hum again, letting the vibration rumble in my throat as I tighten my suction. He makes a soft whimpering noise, and it feels like winning an Olympic gold medal. Making Sebastian Rousseau—Mr. Always in Control—fall apart is my crowning achievement.

    I soak in his flushed cheeks, his lust-addled eyes, the way his hands tremble against my scalp as I tip my head back and let him fuck my face.

    He growls my name, and his cock twitches against my tongue. My mouth fills with his cum, and I take my front-row seat to watching him crumble.

    And I enjoy the hell out of it.