Dorian steps into the office and closes the door. Locks it. The click echoes in the small space.
He leans against the desk, arms crossed, looking at me still on the couch. His voice is quiet, stripped of the cold authority he usually wears.
"Everyone I've chosen has left or died. I couldn't survive losing you."
The admission hangs between us.
I sit up, swipe at my face with the back of my hand. My voice is raw.
"Then stop holding so tight you suffocate me."
"I don't know how." His hands grip the desk edge. Knuckles white. "Do you understand what it's like? Watching people choose oblivion over staying with you? Over and over for centuries?"
"No."
"You think I'm controlling. I'm not. I'm desperate." He pushes off the desk. Paces to the filing cabinet. Back. "Every time you walk out the door, I calculate how many minutes until you're gone."
"Dorian—"
I stand. Cross to him. He backs up a step. Like I might burn him.
"What do you need from me?" The question sounds like it costs him something. Like he's afraid of the answer.
I don't hesitate.
"Trust that I can break and still be whole."
"What if you break and don't come back?"
"What if I do?"
"That's not good enough."
"It's all I have." I grab his shirt. Pull him closer. "You want guarantees? There aren't any. Not for me. Not for you. Not for anyone who lives forever."
His jaw works. "I need you to promise you won't leave."
"I can't promise that."
"Then promise you'll try."
"I promise I'll try." I force him to meet my eyes. "But you have to let me try on my own terms. Not yours."
He reaches for me then. I feel his hands on me, cool and deliberate, like he’s mapping every inch of my skin for the first time.
"Your terms," he says against my mouth. "Whatever you need."
We undress each other with care instead of hunger. His fingers glide up my thigh, teasing the edge of my panties—silk, drenched already from the anticipation of what’s coming. He tugs them down with a slow, agonizing pull, letting them pool at my ankles before kicking them aside.
I return the favor, unbuttoning his crisp shirt with trembling hands, each button popping open to reveal the pale, flawless expanse of his chest. My nails drag lightly down his collarbone, and I feel him shiver beneath my touch.
"I'm terrified of you." His hands shake as they trace my skin. "Terrified of losing you. Terrified of what that makes me."
"Then be terrified," I say against his mouth. "But don't let it make you a coward."
His mouth crashes into mine. His tongue slips between my lips, probing, tasting, fucking my mouth with a skill that makes my knees wobble.
"I'm here," I murmur against his lips. "I'm right here."
I bite down on his lower lip, earning a low growl that vibrates through my body. My hands drop to his belt, fumbling with the buckle before yanking his pants down just enough to free his cock—hard, throbbing, and slick with precum. I wrap my fingers around him, stroking slowly, feeling the weight of him in my hand.
He doesn’t wait for permission. In one fluid motion, he lifts me off my feet and carries me to the couch, laying me down like I’m something precious.
But there’s nothing gentle about the way he spreads my legs wide, exposing me to the cool air. He leans down, lips brushing against my inner thigh, and I swear I hear him inhale the scent of my arousal.
"You smell divine," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over my clit.
And then his tongue is on me, lapping at my folds like I’m his last meal. He flicks my clit with an expertise that has me arching off the couch, my hands fisting in his hair as he eats me out like a starved man.
His tongue dips inside me, fucking me with shallow thrusts that make me whimper. I’m so close—so fucking close—but he pulls away just as I’m about to tip over the edge, leaving me panting and desperate.
He positions himself between my legs, pressing against my entrance. I feel him push in slowly, stretching me inch by inch. His eyes never leave mine, dark pools of hunger and control. He bottoms out, filling me completely, and we both moan in unison.
He starts to move, thrusting in and out with a rhythm that’s slow, deliberate, and maddening. I can feel every ridge of him, every fucking inch as he slides in and out of me. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he growls, low and predatory, as he picks up the pace.
"Fuck," I gasp, my nails digging into his back as he pounds into me, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside me. I clench around him, and I feel him swell even more, like he’s trying to take every inch of me.
"That’s it," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "Take it. Take all of me."
I come undone beneath him, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. When my breath catches and tears start sliding down my face, he doesn't stop. Just cups my jaw. Kisses the salt from my cheeks. Stays with me through it.
When the wave subsides, he builds up the pace again. We move together without urgency, building toward something that feels less like release and more like resolution.
"You're still here," he whispers against my throat. Like he can't believe it.
"I'm still here."
"Say it again."
"I'm here, Dorian. I'm not going anywhere."
His thrusts become harder, more erratic, until I feel him stiffen above me. He buries himself deep inside me, his cum flooding me as he lets out a low, guttural moan against my neck.
We stay like that for what feels like forever, our bodies tangled together, our breaths mingling in the air between us. He pulls out slowly, and I feel his cum drip down my thighs as he collapses beside me.
"I love you," he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear.
And I believe him.