Sunlight crept in through the half-covered window.
Bare walls.
Unhung frames.
The smell of new paint and leftover takeout.
And in the middle of it all—
Jesse, shirtless, in nothing but low-slung boxers, standing in the kitchen with a mug in one hand and bed hair that made him look like something I'd dreamt up just to ruin myself.
I leaned against the doorway and grinned.
"You look like sin."
He sipped his coffee.
Didn't look up.
"That's 'Sir Sin' to you. Now brush your teeth, brat."
---
I brushed.
Messily.
Left foam in the corners of my mouth just to get a rise out of him.
When I came out of the bathroom still grinning, Jesse caught sight of me and growled:
"You did that on purpose."
"What?" I asked, all mock innocence, shirt riding up.
He stalked toward me.
Cornered me against the bathroom sink.
"Turn around."
I blinked. "Jesse—"
"Now."
---
He bent me over the counter.
Again.
This time, the toothbrush still in my hand.
His voice was low and dark at my ear.
"You think you're clever? Want to act like a brat in my house?"
I moaned. "Yes, Sir."
He chuckled.
Dark. Dangerous. Hungry.
"Good."
---
His hand slid beneath my waistband.
No rush.
No warning.
Just fingers finding slick warmth and making me cry out against the cool ceramic.
He didn't stop.
Even as I squirmed.
Even as I begged.
"You taste like mint," he whispered, licking into my mouth.
"Your fault," I gasped.
"Everything is. Including what I'm about to do to you."
---
He dropped to his knees behind me.
And showed me exactly what forever felt like.
---
We never made it to breakfast.
But Jesse did make me come so hard my legs gave out.
And when he carried me to the couch and pulled me onto his lap, arms wrapped tight, lips pressed to my collarbone, I realized—
We hadn't just built a life.
We'd built a sanctuary.
One full of sharp edges, soft mornings, and the kind of love that devours.