"But that's the thing about traps
—they're always dressed up to look like salvation."

•────•°•❀•°•────•

Max's POV

Her words echoed in my head, reverberating through every corner of my being, gripping my heart so tightly I thought it might shatter, not used to feeling this much at once.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My mind scrambled to make sense of how I got here—how she found me, how I found her. The timeline blurred, scattered memories piecing themselves together. It started with a stranger on a hospital rooftop, a girl with fierce hair and a calm voice who appeared when I had all but lost my sense of self. And then I saw her again, like fate playing its favorite game, behind the counter in that ridiculous ugly green apron in that coffee shop.

I tried to understand; to make sense of all the events but nothing did.

It didn't matter how or why or when. All I knew was that it happened. Somewhere between that rooftop and now, I fell for her. I fell so fucking hard and I can't stop falling.

I am consumed by her—every miniature part of her. The fiery strands of her ginger hair that framed her face like wildfire, the curve of her lips that held equal power to smile or cut me in half, the way she smelled like strawberries and something uniquely her. The way she tasted—like warmth and promises. Her laugh, her stubborn determination, her strength even when she thought she had none.

You know, sometimes, it feels like my whole world is crooked, but with her, I feel so steady.

Hearing her say those words...It was insane. It felt impossible that she loved me too, that I wasn't the only one lost on this crazy, messy, impossible road.

It didn't feel healthy, these intense emotions raging within me, they made me feel utterly mad, like I could lose my mind if I ever lost her. I mean, it was madness after all, the way it happened so fast. It felt inevitable though, like every decision, every moment, every breath had been leading me straight to her.

It was crazy, overwhelming, but at the same time, it felt so fucking right. I needed her. Not in a fleeting way, but in a way that reached into my soul and rooted itself there. For my entire life, I needed her, even before I knew her. I only came to realize that now.

I didn't think. I couldn't. My feet moved on their own, closing the space between us. My hands lifted, trembling with the weight of what I felt, and cupped her face. Her skin was soft, warm, and grounding. My thumbs brushed over her cheeks, lingering as if I needed to memorize her.

Her breath hitched under my touch. Her eyes, as terrified as mine, looked up at me with a vulnerability that squeezed my heart again. I leaned closer, my lips falling into hers, kissing her with words my crazy mind couldn't let me voice out loud now. My hands grasped into her so tightly, my lips moved in desperation, consuming, and a clash of everything I couldn't say.

She tasted like serenity and storms all at once—a snowy night where the world is blanketed in white, the quiet so deep it feels sacred. She tasted like the warmth of a crackling fire, the richness of hot coffee cradled between cold hands, and the fleeting sweetness of something you know you'll never get enough of. Her little hands gripped my shirt, pulling me closer, because she felt it too—that pull, that scary gravity between us.

Time stopped. The world disappeared. There was only her, her lips moving against mine, her fingers clutching me like I was her anchor. My hands slid into her hair, tangling in those fiery strands as I deepened the kiss, pouring every unspoken word, every fear and insecurity, every unacknowledged prayer into her.

When I finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, our foreheads touched. Her eyes were hazy, almost drunk on these emotions, her cheeks red and flushed, and her breath came out in shaky, uneven gasps that matched mine.

I stared into her eyes, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. She kept holding into me, as if scared if she let go, I'd disappear.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her brows drew together slightly, and it felt like her pain was carving itself into my chest. I shook my head immediately, "Stop saying that."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her gaze lowering like she couldn't bear to look me in the eyes longer without falling apart. It fell on my shirt—white but streaked with blood. His blood. Her breath caught, I heard it hitch. She unraveled her fingers from the fabric of my shirt and stepped back, her motions hesitant, almost reluctant.

"You should change your clothes," she murmured, her voice quieter now, her hand instinctively reaching for mine again, "Come with me."

She led me back to her room, her fingers curled tightly around mine, "Valerie," I said, attempting to ease the tension coiling around us with a playful tone, "I know it's hot when you wear my clothes, but it's really not the same if I wear yours."

She turned, her eyes narrowing, her lips twitching into a brief, unimpressed frown, "I'll get you something from Dad's old clothes," she murmured, her voice barely audible, heavy with an undertone she tried to mask. Her hand slipped from mine, leaving my skin colder in its absence, and she walked out, her footsteps retreating down the hall.

Left alone, my gaze drifted aimlessly around the room before landing back on her bed. The sheets lay crumpled and tangled, the blanket a discarded heap at the edge. I swallowed hard. A sharp, constricting ache stabbed me in the chest, wrapping around my ribs like a vice. I could still see her there, see her slipping through my grasp just hours ago.

The memory hit me like a gut punch.

I balled my hands into fists, my nails biting into my palms as I replayed the moment over and over in my mind. I had him. He was right there. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't end it. Couldn't stop him. And now, she was left with the aftermath—her safety, her peace, ripped apart because of my failure.

Her approaching footsteps echoed softly, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I forced myself to look away from the bed, to shake off the heaviness clinging to me. Valerie appeared in the doorway, her arms cradling a bundle of clothes. She stepped inside and placed them carefully on the bed's edge, her gaze avoiding mine. "I think these will fit you," she said quietly, her voice fragile as glass.

I nodded, bending to pick them up. "Thanks," I murmured.

She shook her head, brushing off my gratitude. "You can take a shower too if you want," she suggested softly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, "It's better if I do."

"I'll get you a towel," she said quickly, retreating again before I could respond.

I made my way to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. My shirt was already halfway over my head, ready to be discarded away when the door creaked open. Valerie stepped in, towel in hand, only to freeze as her eyes caught on me.

She hesitated, her throat bobbing in a small, involuntary swallow. But then, with a forced casualness, she moved further in, hanging the towel neatly on the hook. Her movements were precise, measured, as though she were trying not to look at me—but failing.

She edged back, "Uh, I think you're gonna have to use my strawberry shampoo," She said, her tone a bit playful, "We don't have any manly options."

My lips twitched and I nodded my head, "Yeah, I don't mind."

"Well, if you feel like you're going into an anaphylactic shock, just yell for me," she added.

My smile widened, "Noted."

We stood close now—one tile, maybe less, separating us. Her arms folded over her chest, but her gaze faltered, flickering from my face, down to my chest and dipping to the obvious scar that cut near my abdomen. Her expression shifted, the lightness in her eyes replaced by something softer, sadder.

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, her eyes looking back up, "You still haven't told me how it happened."

I exhaled slowly and explained, "You remember everything I told you about Nikolas? About the life he led before," I started and she nodded, her eyes never leaving mine.

"In a life like that, you tend to make enemies," I said, my tone heavier than I intended.

She stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until her warmth reached me. Her hand, hesitant but steady, brushed against the ruined skin.  Her fingers traced its jagged edges like she could feel every ounce of pain it had caused, "And they came for you," she said, not as a question but as a quiet, heartbreaking realization.

"Yeah," I murmured, my jaw tightening as her touch lingered, unbearably tender.

I couldn't look away from her. I watched as her jaw tensed, the muscles tightening as she stared at my scar like she wanted to take it from me, to bear its weight instead. Then, slowly, she lifted her head, her misty eyes locking onto mine. A tangled web of emotions swirled in her gaze—fear, anger, heartbreak. "I'm so scared, Max," she whispered, her voice nearly breaking.

Her admission hit me harder than I expected. My breath caught, and I shook my head, instinctively stepping closer, desperate to ease the fear I could feel radiating from her, "I won't let him touch you. I swear to God, Valerie, he will never get close to you again," I said.

She shook her head, "That's not it," She whispered, "I know him, Max, I know him, and this time, he won't come after me, he'll come after you."

Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice cracked as she pressed on, "David doesn't like being threatened. He doesn't accept defeat. And now that you made him feel weak, he'll stop at nothing to make you regret it," A tear broke free, tracing a slow, agonizing path down her cheek as she whispered, "Believe me, I'd know. He killed my father, after all."

I reached for her face, cupping her cheek with steady fingers as I brushed her tears away. Her fear wasn't for herself—it was for me. The realization settled like a boulder in my chest, heavy and suffocating, "Whatever he plans," I said, my voice hardening with conviction, "we'll be ready for him. I told you, Valerie—he doesn't get to win. Not this time. Not ever."

The promise in my words wasn't hollow. If I couldn't pull the trigger myself, there were people who could. He would meet his end, because until he did, neither of us would find peace.

I edged and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into me and holding her as tightly as I could, as though I could shield her from the whole world. Her body folded into mine, her arms circling my back, clutching me like I was her only anchor. I pressed my lips to her hair, inhaling the faint scent of strawberries as I whispered, "I don't want you to worry, Valerie. I've got you. Always."

She melted into my embrace, her trembling subsiding. I ran my fingers through her hair, my grip tightening just enough as I spoke, addressing every obstacle in both of our lives, "We'll get through this together, I promise."

•────•°•❀•°•────•

Valerie's POV

Max had finally drifted off, his body heavy with exhaustion as he sank into the small comfort of having me near. His arm was draped over me, holding me as though even in sleep, he was afraid to let go. His warmth pressed against my side, grounding me, tethering me to this moment. But no matter how much I tried, sleep refused to claim me. My mind was a storm—wild, loud, and relentless.

I watched him in the dim light. He looked so peaceful, so unguarded, that my chest ached with the weight of everything I felt for him. I reached out, brushing my fingers across his cheek, the faintest touch, as though I could memorize the way his skin felt beneath my fingertips. My hand traveled upward, stroking through his hair, sweeping away the strands that had fallen over his forehead.

A small, fragile smile tugged at my lips as I gazed at him. But it was fleeting, crumbling under the suffocating weight of my thoughts. My heart twisted, a sharp, unbearable pang, as the darkest possibilities crept in. The thought of Max getting hurt, of David coming after him, of taking him away from me—it was a horror I couldn't bear to imagine. I don't think I'd survive it. Not this time.

I had so much guilt to carry. Dad's death. Reneé disability. My mother's wavering state. All of it, every single piece of this tragedy, was the aftermath of a decision I made. A decision that tore everything apart. The decision to let David into my life.

I had opened the door and welcomed him in, blind to the danger, deaf to the warnings. He had woven a web of perfect lies, so seamless, so beautiful, that I couldn't see the threads unraveling beneath. He was charming, and magnetic, his attention intoxicating. The most famous guy in college had looked at me, seen me, and wanted me. It had been everything I thought I'd ever wanted.

And I fell for it. God, I fell so hard. Recklessly. Naively. I believed him. I believed the fairytale he spun, a story too perfect to be real. But that's the thing about traps—they're always dressed up to look like salvation.

He knew exactly what to say, what to do, how to make me trust him, how to make me love him. And by the time I saw the monster lurking beneath the façade, it was too late. The damage was done. He had already laid waste to everything I held dear.

Now, lying beside Max, the weight of those choices pressed down on me, suffocating. I had brought this darkness into my life, into my family's life. And now it threatened to consume him too. The thought was unbearable.

I stroked his hair one last time and pressed a featherlight kiss to his temple. He stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent, and tightened his arm around me. I closed my eyes as I sank into his warmth, listening to the sound of his heartbeats as I drifted off, with one thought on my mind. I will do everything to protect him. I wouldn't let David touch him—no, not this time.

•────•°•❀•°•────•

The sharp click of the main door shutting jolted me awake. My eyes snapped open, wide with terror as my mind scrambled to piece together the worst possible scenarios. My mother. The thought clawed at me instantly, sending a chill down my spine. I think she's back.

My breath caught as I turned, my gaze darting to the bed beside me, only to find it empty. Panic surged in my chest. The faint hum of voices drifted up from downstairs, and without a second thought, I threw myself out of bed, my heart hammering like a drum. I bolted toward the source, my feet barely touching the ground as I tore through the hallway like a mad woman.

When I reached the living room, I skidded to a halt. My wild, frantic thoughts screeched to a stop as my eyes fell on them.

Max. Standing casually, his head tilted toward Reneé as they laughed at something he'd just said. Reneé, in her usual bubbly self, leaned against her crutch, her giggles filling the air like sunshine piercing through a storm.

The moment they noticed me, their laughter quieted. My sister's cheerful gaze met mine, and Max's eyes flickered all over my face, his smile widened, softening.

"Morning, Val!" Reneé chirped with a sing-song tone, breaking the silence as she dropped her backpack by the door with a soft thud.

I opened my mouth, words stuck somewhere between relief and confusion, and I instinctively brushed a hand over my face to ground myself, "Uh...morning," I managed, my voice a little hoarse. My gaze flitted between them, my brow furrowing as I settled on Reneé. "How—" My voice faltered, the lines on my forehead deepening, "How did you even get here?"

She grinned, her face lighting up with that mischievous sparkle I knew all too well. "Well," she said, drawing out the word, "I did call you to ask if you could pick me up, but—" her grin widened as she jabbed a finger toward Max— "this guy answered your phone."

My eyes snapped to Max, and his smile faltered, retreating into something more hesitant, guarded. I watched as unease crept into his expression. His shoulders stiffened, and I could see it—the fear that I'd lash out, as I had once before, that I'd overreact and send him packing without a second thought.

"I—uh..." He stammered, his eyes nervously darting over my face, trying to gauge my mood. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you, so I thought..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I'd just go pick her up. You don't...mind, do you?" His voice was cautious, unsure, like he was bracing himself for a storm.

A sigh escaped me and relief washed over me, cooling the panic that had gripped me moments ago. I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Of course, I don't mind," I murmured, my voice softer now, "Thank you."

Reneé, ever the ray of sunshine, clapped her hands together dramatically, breaking the moment. "Also, we got breakfast!" she declared with an exaggerated flourish, holding up a carton box of pastries. She balanced it in one hand, using the other to lean against her crutch as she made her way toward the kitchen.

"I'll get the plates," she called over her shoulder, her voice brimming with energy, "Valerie, wash your face, and let's eat. I'm starving!"

Max's eyes followed her retreating figure, amusement lighting up his expression as he stepped closer. His hands slid into the pockets of the sweatpants I'd lent him last night, the fabric hanging just a bit loose on him, "I'm actually envious of her energy," he remarked, his lips curling into a soft smile.

I let out a breath, feeling my shoulders loosen as some of the tension eased. "Yeah, she's always like this," I said, shaking my head with an affection I couldn't hide.

It was only when Max's eyes settled on me again, warm and soft, that I realized how I must have looked—running out of bed in a panic, my hair disheveled, my face still creased from sleep. I groaned internally and covered my face with both hands. I dropped my head forward, letting my forehead press against his chest.

"Don't look at me," I grumbled, my voice muffled. "I must look hideous."

His chest rumbled beneath me, the sound of his chuckle low and comforting. His hands slipped over my waist, steadying me as his lips brushed a kiss into my hair, "You could never look hideous," he murmured, wholeheartedly.

I pulled back, narrowing my eyes at him despite the blush creeping up my neck, "I'll go freshen up and come back," I said quickly, stepping away before he could hold me in place. His hand reached out, almost catching my arm, but I was faster, darting toward the bathroom, hearing his soft chuckle behind me and suddenly life felt much more lighter.

I splashed cool water on my face, brushed my teeth, and ran a comb through my hair. Staring at my reflection, I took a deep breath, steadying myself before stepping out and heading back to the kitchen.

I paused at the doorway, the scene playing ahead pulling me to a short stop. Reneé was already done setting the plates, her movements quick and efficient despite leaning on her crutch. Max stood by the counter, pouring coffee into mugs, his head tilted toward her as she spoke animatedly.

"...and then, with like five seconds left on the clock, I faked a pass to Julie," Renéé was saying, her voice bursting with pride, "and bam! I drove the ball right past their defense and scored. We won by one point," She added, the two interacting so naturally it squeezed my heart, "The crowd went wild, and our Coach was practically crying."

Max's brows lifted, his grin widening as he leaned closer, genuinely engrossed, "Five seconds? No way. That's incredible," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "And you didn't panic under that kind of pressure?"

Reneé shrugged, a little smug, "Nope. Cool as ice. You should've seen the other team's faces—it was so satisfying."

Max listened, nodding thoughtfully, "Man, that takes some serious coordination and nerves. What position did you play?"

"Point guard," Renéé said proudly, lifting her chin. "Fast feet, quick hands, and a whole lot of strategy. It was my thing."

Max chuckled, clearly impressed. "I can see that. You've got the energy and the brains for it."

They laughed together, the sound so light and easy it made my chest tighten. I leaned against the doorframe, watching them some more. Reneé's eyes sparkled with the kind of happiness that felt so rare these days.

But then, like a weight settling on my chest, the reality crashed in. Basketball wasn't her thing anymore. She couldn't run down the court, couldn't weave through defenders with that unstoppable confidence. Not since the accident. Not since the day her life—our lives—changed forever.

Max hung on her every word she spoke, his admiration clear, and for a moment, I was glad. Glad she could talk about it without her smile faltering.

But my heart ached all the same. Because I knew. I knew how much she missed it. How much she'd give to step back onto that court, even just once.

"...Valerie," Renéé's voice shattered my thoughts, jolting me back to the present. She waved me over, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that never faded, "Come on, we're starving."

I shook off the ache and smiled, walking toward them. Sliding into the chair next to Max, I barely registered the way his hand instantly found my thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles against my skin, grounding me with his familiar warmth. He sipped his coffee, ever so casually, his attention still mostly on Reneé as she animatedly spun more stories.

I relaxed in my seat and enjoyed every little second of this day, reveling in all the small details; Max's warm steady presence, Reneé's happy smile, the tasty pastries, and the calmness I've lost sense of settled and bloomed in my chest.

When we finished, I stretched and began gathering the plates. "You guys prepared this. I'll handle the dishes," I announced, rising from my seat. Reneé happily handed over her plate before wandering off, phone in hand, already deep in conversation with her friends.

Max moved to help me, gathering what was left on the table. As I started rinsing the plates, I felt him linger, watching me as I cleaned them like it was the most interesting thing ever.

Him being him, as if pulled by an invisible string, he stepped closer. His warmth blanketed me as his chest pressed against my back. My breath hitched when his chin came to rest lightly on my shoulder, his soft exhale teasing the side of my neck.

His hands, always deliberate, slid over my waist. His thumbs grazed the curve of my hips, slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world to memorize me. I wasn't about to complain, not in the slightest. After last night, I was terrified that he would go back into never touching me again, but he isn't pulling back like I was a glass that could shatter and that's so relieving.

I turned my head slightly to glance at him, my hands still busy with the soapy plates. His eyes caught mine, and the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world that mattered—made my pulse quicken. Unable to resist, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He grinned, his smile boyish and utterly disarming. "So," I started, my voice lighter now, "are you planning on staying here today?"

"If you'd let me, then yeah," He said.

I nodded, setting a clean plate on the drying rack. "I need to check if my mother is coming back first. I don't want her running into you here."

"Why not," Max said, being his ridiculous self, "I am quite charming," He said before dropping a soft kiss over the top of my shoulder for emphasis.

"Yeah, yeah, you are, but she is immune to that," I commented.

His lips curved into a playful smirk, "That's okay. I'll win her over eventually. One way or another," He punctuated his words with another kiss, this time at the crook of my neck, his breath warm and teasing against my skin, "I'll make her love me too."

He had to emphasize the L-word, recalling back the statement I muttered last night. He won't let me live that down anytime soon, will he?

"Good luck with that," I muttered, my tone tinged with bitterness I hadn't meant to let slip, "She barely even loves me, so don't hold your breath."

He stilled, the playfulness in his posture fading. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brows knitting together. "Valerie," he said softly, like he was treading carefully, "she's your mother. Of course, she loves you."

I let out a low sigh as I washed the soap off my hands, "Well, she has a sucky way of showing it."

Max watched me as I stepped away, grabbing a towel to dry my hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but I shook my head before he could. "Let's not talk about this," I murmured. "Last night was stressful enough. I just want to relax today."

His eyes softened, and he nodded without hesitation, "Yeah. Sure."

•────•°•❀•°•────•

"I'll take a shower," I said, picking up a clean set of pajamas to change into.

Max lay sprawled on my bed like he owned it, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone, scrolling lazily. Without looking up, he said, "I can help if you want."

I paused and looked up at him, "Okay," I said.

He stilled for a second, his eyes leaving his phone screen and falling on me, not expecting me to take his offer seriously. His eyes assessed my face and I watched the way his throat moved, heavily bobbing, "Uh, I was...kidding," he mumbled lowly.

I shrugged, "I am not," I said.

I watched as the redness rushed all the way over his neck and slightly crept up to his face. I chewed on my lower lip, trying not to smile. For a guy with his reputation and bluntness, it feels so adorable when he gets anxious and nervous around me.

I set my clothes on the edge and moved closer to him, "Okay, I will be the one to address the big elephant in the room," I started as I settled by his side. He straightened up right away, discarding his phone and focusing on me, "Last night," I added, my hand moved and tucked my hair behind my ear, nervous to be speaking about it out loud, "It was my first time trying anything after...you know...after him, and I had no idea how I'll react or what to expect."

"And turns out, I probably need time maybe, or just a little bit more to adjust," I explained, "I mean it's not like we haven't done...other things," The image of him burying his head between my thighs flashed and I had to shift in my seating, my face reddening instantly at the memory.

"We can...keep doing that, you know just keep taking it step by step," I added, because I wasn't going to give up yet. I will conquer this stupid fear of intimacy. I will erase David's touch from over my skin and I will bandage up all those scars he engraved.

Max only listened as I spoke, his eyes staring only at mine, so deeply, as if to figure out whether I was bluffing or speaking up my mind. When he was sure, he nodded his head, "Okay."

"Cool," I muttered, my voice coming out more flustered than I'd intended. Why was it suddenly so hot in here?

I stood abruptly, grabbing my clothes. "So," I said over my shoulder, "are you showering with me or not?"

He pulled himself up, a bit of hesitation in his movement and he followed, "Yeah," he said, "One can never be too clean, right?"

When we reached the bathroom, I closed the door and locked it. Reneé was busy in her room, finishing up her homework but one can't be careful enough. I pretended to be so cool, like I wasn't dying on the inside as I hung the towel and placed my clothes aside, all while busy arranging the shampoo and shower gel, and holy hell why did I even suggest this in the first place...

I paused and glanced at Max. He stood awkwardly by the door, scratching the back of his neck like he was unsure of what to do next. Finally, he broke the silence. "So...uh, who's undressing first?"

Oh god. Kill me now.

Heat surged from my chest to my face, and I could feel the flush creeping up my neck. "You go first," I said, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.

But he didn't move. He just let out a long, frustrated breath and looked away from me, "God, I hate this," He muttered. My heart instantly sank at his words and when he looked back at me, he noticed the shift in my expression.

His eyes widened and he stepped closer, "No, no, not this," he said quickly, his words tumbling out. "Not you. Never you. I just hate how fucking nervous you make me." He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, "I've never been nervous with anyone before, and it's...infuriating."

My lips twitched despite myself. "It's cute," I whispered.

He groaned, his jaw clenching. "It's not."

I chuckled lowly and I nodded, "It is," I took a step closer, my hand reaching to his, "But you don't have to be nervous with me, you can just be...you."

He scoffed, "If I were being me, you'd be on your knees now with my cock in your mouth, so believe me, Valerie, you don't want me to be me," he said making my eyes widen at his vulgar mouth. I pulled my hand from his and punched his arm lightly, my face burning, "You and that filthy mouth!"

"Well, you told me to be me," he said with a shrug, clearly pleased with himself.

You know what, in a way, he is right. I sucked into a deep breath and made up my mind. It's time to conquer my fears.

Determined, I edged closer, my resolve solidifying as I reached for the hem of his sweatshirt.

"Valerie, what are you—" Max's words cut off as I tugged the fabric over his head, discarding it to the side. His eyes locked onto mine, startled by my sudden bold movements.

I didn't answer. Instead, I reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, my fingers brushing against his skin. That was when his hand shot out, curling around my wrist, firm but not harsh. His eyes widened, his voice sharp, "Valerie!"

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I met his intense gaze. My tone was confident and unyielding, "I let you do this to me. Why won't you let me do it to you as well?"

His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting. Darkness flickered there, a hunger barely restrained, "Because if we start this," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low, "I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

I nodded my head, "Then...we won't stop," I answered. My voice softened as I added, "Max, I won't do anything that makes me uncomfortable," I explained, "It's actually the exact opposite, when I am doing it myself, taking the very first step...it makes me feel like I am in control," It really does.

His jaw clenched, his breath harsh and unsteady as he searched my face for doubt. When he found none, his grip loosened, and he let my wrist go. "Okay," he said, though his voice was rough, as though the word cost him something.

"Okay," I said back, my lips curling into a small smile, "But uh," I swallowed hard as my gaze flickered down, "I don't know...how, I mean I know how, I just," I shook my head frustratingly, "I've never done it before."

If possible, my words added more darkness to his gaze, his green eyes deepening into something primal and unreadable. "God, Valerie," he grated out, his voice raw and strained, like he was in pain and I was his only medication, "you're going to kill me."

"I'm not trying to," I whispered.

Whatever thread of restraint he'd been holding onto snapped. His hand rose, his palm cupping the side of my neck in a way that made my breath hitch. In a split second, his lips crashed into mine with a force that stole it entirely, so harshly that he muffled the rest of my words. His free hand reached for my waist, his fingers digging into the exposed area beneath my shirt.

He silenced every other voice in my head as he claimed my mouth like a madman.

My body responded to his touch so freely, without any restraints or fear. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers diving into the back of his hair. His grip on my waist shifted, and with a strength that left me breathless, he lifted me so effortlessly. My back collided with the cold shower wall, the contrast against my heated skin making me gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop. His kisses grew rougher, deeper, like he was pouring every ounce of emotion he couldn't voice into me.

Almost like there was no tomorrow and no yesterday.

I felt his hands move, one sliding down to hold me steady while the other captured both of my wrists, pinning them above my head in a single hand. The sheer dominance of the gesture sent a shiver down my spine, and my breath hitched again.

"Max," I managed to murmur against his lips, but he didn't let up.

His mouth left mine, trailing down to my jaw, then to my neck, where he bit and kissed in a way that left my head spinning. His free hand roamed beneath my shirt, igniting a trail of fire with every touch, "You drive me insane," he growled, his lips brushing against my skin as he spoke, "Those innocent eyes of yours," The feeling of being so completely at his mercy was overwhelming in the best way, "These maddeningly sweet lips," He pressed his into mine again, his teeth dug into my lower lip, biting and I wasn't responsible for the sound that left me.

"This mouth," He groaned into my mouth, and I could feel his erratic pulse beneath my fingers as I moved them over his neck, "I am obsessed, Valerie, addicted to you," He added, brushing his lips against mine once more, "And not in a healthy way."

He edged back to look at me, to read my body language, to detect every reaction that came out of me. I brushed my hand over the side of his hair, gazing back at him, panting, and trying to catch my next breath as he did just the same.

My lips curled into a small smile, because I was feeling too much too and every feeling felt better than I ever thought possible. I leaned in and pecked his lips, so softly, so delicately, wanting to savor every little moment.

"So, can I?" I asked, my voice barely coming out, my hands moved over his bare chest before they reached his sweatpants again.

With his eyes on mine, he nodded his head. I wasted no time and pulled it down, he assisted me and kicked it away. I pulled down his boxers and dear god, the ache at the pit of my stomach only intensified, craving things I never thought I'd want.

My breath caught in my throat. The ache twisted tighter, sharper, as I took him in. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out, hesitant but unable to hold back. Wrapping my hand around his length, I marveled at the heat of him, the weight, and the way his body responded immediately to my touch.

I stroked him slowly, my movements unpracticed but instinctive, my palm sliding over the hard length of him.

He sucked into a stuttering breath, tipping his head backward, "Fuck, Valerie," he rasped, his voice low and raw, pulling me deeper into the haze surrounding us. His lids fell heavy, and his jaw tightened as if he was holding himself together by a thread.

The sound of his pleasure sent a shiver down my spine, pooling heat between my thighs as my own breathing quickened. Every stroke of my hand felt like a silent conversation, his reactions guiding me, reassuring me that I was doing something right.

He leveled his gaze back with my own, and his hand reached for my face, cupping my cheek so tenderly I thought I might crash because...how could I feel so much? I don't know what took over me, or what I was doing, I just kept doing it and leaned closer to kiss him, my lips moving against his, the ache in me increasing, all of my senses heightened and I felt my breathing getting harsher, even though I was the one touching him and not the other way around.

"I love you," I murmured, almost painfully into his mouth, the words tumbling out of me in a way that felt both desperate and freeing.

His gaze softened, and a small, breathless smile touched his lips, "Every time you say that, I feel lightheaded," he murmured.

I smiled, "Tell me what to do," I whispered, shaking my head, "I want to do it right for you."

His eyes darkened again, "You're doing it just perfectly," he said, his words catching as I tightened my grip slightly, testing his reaction.

Emboldened by the way his breathing hitched, I let instinct guide me once more. Slowly, I sank to my knees before him, the cool tile pressing into my skin as I looked up at him. His eyes met mine, and the intensity there made my heart race.

"Jesus Christ, Valerie," he muttered, his voice strained as his hands flexed at his sides.

Tentatively, I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the tip of him, tasting him for the first time. His reaction was instant—a sharp inhale, his body going rigid above me. Encouraged, I took him into my mouth, unsure, so very inexperienced but determined, my tongue gliding experimentally along his length.

"Fuck," he groaned again, his voice breaking on the word. His hand found the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair, gripping tightly but not harshly. "Valerie..." he grated out, his voice a mix of praise and restraint.

I tried to match the rhythm I thought he'd like, moving slowly at first, exploring him with my tongue and lips. His grip tightened, his hips twitching forward as though he was fighting the urge to lose control.

"Easy," he muttered, begging me to keep him in control, his voice taut as he guided me, his hand in my hair both grounding and leading.

I looked up at him, and the sight of him—a guy so controlled, so confident—looking utterly wrecked by me made something tighten low in my belly. His jaw was clenched, his head tipped back slightly, but his eyes kept flickering back to mine, like he couldn't bear to lose the connection.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he murmured, his voice a raw, broken whisper as he fought to keep from taking over completely. His hips jerked slightly despite himself, and he groaned low and rough, his hand loosening in my hair momentarily before tightening again, guiding me in a rhythm that had his breathing turned ragged.

I wanted to memorize the way he looked, the way he felt, the way he sounded, every moment branding itself into my memory as I worked to give him every ounce of pleasure he was giving me in return.

Max pulled out of my mouth, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hand slipped from my hair to cup the back of my neck, firm yet tender, while his other hand gripped my arm, pulling me to my feet with an urgency that left me breathless. It was as if he feared he'd unravel completely if I continued, and the desperation in his touch ignited something deep within me.

The moment I was upright, his lips crashed into mine, devouring me in a kiss that left no room for doubt. I melted into him, my arms wrapping around his neck, and only then did I become acutely aware of how I was still fully clothed.

My fingers fumbled with my shirt, trembling as I tugged it over my head in the brief moments our mouths broke apart. I tossed it to the side, and Max didn't hesitate—his hands were already at my back, unclasping my bra. As I wriggled out of my pants, he barely gave me time to discard them before his hands were back on me, rough yet reverent, his lips brushing over my collarbone.

"Max, I want..." Holy hell, this time I really did want him, the throbbing between my thighs was going to drive me insane.

"What do you want?" He whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth.

My chest heaved as I struggled to put my desire into words, the heat inside me becoming unbearable. His lips twitched into a ghost of a smile against my skin before they brushed the shell of my ear, "Just do whatever you want," he encouraged, his tone soft yet commanding as he guided my hands back to his hard length. "I'm all yours, Valerie."

The simplicity of his words shattered my weak heart. He wasn't rushing me, wasn't pushing. He was giving me full control, grounding me in this moment, reminding me that this was mine to take.

I guided him closer, and he followed without hesitation, his hands steadying me as I pressed my back against the cold wall. A gasp left my lips at the contrast, but it only heightened the ache building inside me. With trembling hands, I positioned him at my entrance, the anticipation making me shiver.

Max's grip on my hips tightened, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor me. "Slow," he murmured, his voice a mix of gentle reassurance and raw hunger. "I've got you."

He began to move with me, his hips rolling forward as he eased into me, stretching and filling me, so achingly slow, in a way that stole my breath. My nails scraped against his shoulders, and my head tipped back against the wall as I tried to absorb the overwhelming sensations. A broken moan spilled from my lips, "Oh my god," I whimpered.

"Valerie," he murmured, his voice pulling me back. His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Eyes on me," he commanded softly, his green eyes burning with intensity. "Keep your beautiful eyes on me, okay," He urged and I nodded my head, breathless as I tried to make my heart adjust to this sensation.

I blinked up at him, emotional tears threatening to fall from the sheer intensity of it all, "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, his tone steady as he began to move inside me, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling with practiced precision. His eyes only on my own, guiding me through this, "You'll always be safe with me, I promise."

Each thrust was measured, and purposeful, his sweet praises falling from his lips like a lifeline. "That's it, baby," he groaned, his jaw clenching as his own restraint began to fray.

His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with my own as I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered.

"God, you feel so good," I murmured, my voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of our mingled breaths. "This feels so..." I trailed off, lost in the intensity, my words dissolving into a soft moan as his hips began to move faster, more desperate.

He moved in a perfect rhythm, a mix of tender and rough, his lips brushing mine again, coaxing and praising me until I couldn't tell where he ended and I began. At this moment, there was only him and me, sharing something beyond my craziest imagination. There was no dark past, no David, no pain, no threats. Just him and me, sinking deeper into one another. It was perfect.

His breathing became heavier, barely holding on and I felt the waves take me up higher and higher, the familiar pleasurable sensation almost within reach. I was panting, teetering on the edge, and he knew it, "Max," I whimpered, my moan desperate and he understood it, fastening his pace, slamming into me, and sending sparks of pleasure racing and exploding through me.

He groaned into my mouth as I kissed him, he muffled my orgasm as he pushed his tongue into my mouth, tasting every little bit of me. He was about to pull out but I held him so close, refusing to lose contact, "I am on the pill," I mumbled into his skin, burying my lips into his neck. I had started the day I decided to take this step with him.

My little innocent words made him unravel too. His body shuddered, the last threads of his control snapping as he buried himself deeper, his warmth spilling inside me. My teeth bit into his shoulder instinctively, the sensation of him filling me amplifying my own release.

His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he pressed his forehead back to mine, the intimacy of the moment stealing what little breath I had left. His arms wrapped tightly around me as if afraid I'd disappear if he let go.

I pulled back just slightly, needing to see him. But before I could fully catch my breath, his lips were on mine again, desperate and searching, as if he needed this connection just as much as I did.

When I finally managed to part from him, my gaze flicked up to his face. His green eyes were glassy, emotions swirling in their depths, and I caught sight of a few tears gathered at the corners. He blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall, but they were there—raw, honest, and utterly beautiful.

"Max," I whispered, my hand coming up to cup his cheek. He turned into my touch, his eyes closing briefly as his lips pressed to my palm.

"You have no idea what you mean to me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

I smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him, my lips brushing his with a tenderness that belied the fire that still simmered between us. "I think I do," I whispered back.

•────•°•❀•°•────•

"I feel bad wearing your father's clothes," Max muttered, tugging at the hem of the shirt he now wore. His lips curled into a dissatisfied frown, his brow furrowing slightly. "Why did you wash my clothes?"

I shot him a pointed look, crossing my arms. "Maybe because there was blood on them," I reminded him of his doings, my tone carrying just enough sarcasm to make my point.

He rolled his eyes but didn't argue, his gaze locking with mine for a moment before his expression softened. A slow smile spread across his face, and before I could say anything more, he leaned in and pecked my lips. If I thought he was touchy before, he was ten times worse now that we did what we...did. Holy hell, we really did do that, huh?

He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me snugly into his side as we moved toward the door. We were getting hungry and instead of ordering food, I wanted to prepare him my famous spaghetti recipe, but a quick scan of the pantry earlier confirmed that half the ingredients were missing. A quick trip to the nearby market would solve that problem, and I was already picturing us having a nice, quiet dinner together.

Leaning into his embrace, I placed my hand on the doorknob, ready to open it. But just as I twisted it slightly, the sound of another key turning in the lock from outside froze me in place.

The door swung open before I could move, revealing my mother standing there, suitcase in hand. She stopped mid-step, her gaze locking onto me first before sliding, ever so slowly to Max. Her sharp eyes lingered on him, taking in his presence, his arm still casually wrapped around my waist. Then her gaze snapped back to me, narrowing slightly.

Her expression didn't give much away, but the subtle tightening of her jaw, the faint arch of her brow, and the way her lips pressed together told me everything I needed to know.

She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her with a controlled click, her suitcase landing with a soft thud by her feet. Straightening to her full height, she crossed her arms over her chest and fixed me with a look that made the air feel ten degrees colder.

"So, Valerie," she began, her tone deceptively calm, but each word laced with an edge that sent shivers racing down my spine. Her gaze flicked to Max again, sharp and assessing, before returning to me. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Of course. Today had been going way too well for it to last.

•──────•°•❀•°•──────•

Merry Christmas 🥰🎄