The sharp intake of breath Noah makes against my neck tells me everything I need to know. This conversation is over. What comes next isn't going to involve talking at all.
I pull back just enough to see his face, to watch his ice-blue eyes dilate as he processes what I just promised him. The stitches above his eyebrow, the wrap around his sprained hand, the bruises darkening along his ribs—all evidence of what he put himself through tonight. All proof that he's exactly as reckless and beautiful and dangerous as I suspected.
All reasons why I need to make sure he understands exactly who he belongs to.
"You manipulated me," I say quietly, my thumb still tracing his bottom lip. "Kept me in the dark for a week while you orchestrated something that could have gotten you killed."
"I did."
The simple admission makes heat race through my veins. No excuses. No justifications. Just honest acknowledgment of exactly what he did and why.
"You made me watch you bleed while being powerless to stop it."
"I did."
"You turned me into a fucking spectator in my own life."
"I did." His voice is rougher now, affected by the way I'm touching him. By the promise in my voice and the heat building between us. "And you're going to make me pay for it."
"I'm going to make you understand what it cost me." I move closer, until there's no space left between us. Until I can feel the heat radiating off his skin and smell the adrenaline still coursing through his system. "What it did to me, watching you take damage that should have been mine."
"Show me."
The challenge in his voice makes something snap inside me. Because that's what this is. Noah pushing me to prove exactly what kind of monster he's decided to claim. Testing whether I'm willing to follow through on the threats I've been making.
I grab his face with both hands and kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Without any of the careful control I usually maintain. This isn't gentle or romantic or anything resembling civilized. This is claiming. This is punishment. This is me showing him exactly what his manipulation did to every carefully constructed wall I've built around the parts of me that are too dangerous to let loose.
He kisses me back like he's been starving for it. Like watching me lose control is exactly what he's been waiting for. His hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer despite the pressure against his bruised ribs. Despite the way it must hurt.
Or maybe because of it.
When I break away, we're both breathing hard. His lips are swollen, his eyes dark with something that looks like hunger mixed with challenge.
"More," he says.
"Greedy."
"For you? Always."
The honesty in his voice makes something primitive and possessive unfurl in my chest. Because that's what I've been wanting to hear. Not just that he wants me, but that he wants me enough to manipulate and lie and put himself at risk just to protect what we're building.
I back him toward the bedroom, my hands already working at the buttons of his shirt. He doesn't resist. Doesn't try to slow this down or make it about anything other than the desperate need that's been building between us since that first night in this apartment.
"Your ribs," I say as I push his shirt off his shoulders, taking in the bruises that are already darkening across his pale skin.
"Will heal."
"Your hand."
"Will heal."
"The stitches."
"Will heal." His voice is getting rougher, more affected. "Everything will heal, Enzo. Stop treating me like I'm going to break."
"Maybe I want you to break. Maybe I want to be the one who does it."
His smile is sharp enough to cut. "Then stop talking and try."
The challenge makes heat race straight to my core. Because that's exactly what I want. Not to hurt him, but to push him past his careful control. To see if the monster he showed me tonight is something he can access when it's just us. When there's no crowd to perform for or strategy to execute.
When it's just honesty and need and the kind of twisted intimacy that makes you forget about breathing.
I push him back onto the bed, following him down until I'm straddling his hips. The position puts pressure on his bruised ribs, and I can see him wince slightly. But he doesn't ask me to move. Doesn't show any sign that the pain discourages him.
My own ribs protest the movement, a sharp reminder that I'm not fully healed either. But the discomfort is worth it for the way Noah's eyes darken when he sees me positioned above him like this.
"Your ribs," he says, noticing the way I hold myself carefully.
"Will heal."
"So will mine." His smile is sharp. "Looks like we're both going to have to be creative about this."
If anything, it seems to make him more focused. More present.
"Tell me what you want," I say, my hands braced on either side of his head.
"Everything."
"Be more specific."
"I want you to stop holding back. I want to see the version of you that doesn't worry about being too much or too intense or too fucking dangerous." His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want. "I want you to show me what I really unleashed."
The words send electricity racing through my system. Because that's exactly what he did. He unleashed something in me that I've spent years keeping carefully controlled. Something that wants to possess and claim and mark him in ways that probably aren't healthy for either of us.
Something that doesn't know how to be gentle when it comes to things that matter.
I lean down and capture his mouth again, this time biting his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp. The sound goes straight to my core, making me want to hear it again. Want to find all the ways I can make him lose that careful control he wears like armor.
My hands move to his chest, fingers tracing the edges of his bruises with deliberate pressure. Not enough to cause real damage, but enough to remind him of the violence he chose tonight. Enough to make the connection between pain and pleasure that much more immediate.
"Fuck," he breathes against my mouth.
"You like that."
"I like everything you do to me."
"Even when it hurts?"
"Especially when it hurts."
The admission makes something dark and hungry twist in my gut. Because that's exactly what I needed to hear. Permission to stop being careful. Permission to give him exactly what we both need without worrying about being too much.
I move down his body, my mouth following the path my hands traced. Kissing and biting and leaving marks that will remind him of this tomorrow. That will make him think of me every time he sees them.
When I reach the wrap around his sprained hand, I pause. "This stays on."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to remember what you did tonight. What you risked. What it cost you to prove a point to me."
I bring his wrapped hand to my mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles. Gentle. Reverent. The complete opposite of everything else I'm doing to him.
"Enzo." His voice is wrecked already, and I've barely started.
"What?"
"Stop being so fucking careful with me."
The frustration in his voice makes me look up at him. Makes me see the way he's watching me with those ice-blue eyes that are dark with want and something that looks like impatience.
"I'm not being careful."
"Bullshit. You're holding back. I can see it." He reaches up with his good hand and tangles his fingers in my hair, using the grip to pull me back up to his level. "I told you what I want. I want you to stop pretending either of us knows how to do this without leaving scars."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure about everything when it comes to you."
The certainty in his voice breaks something loose inside me. Some last restraint I've been holding onto out of habit rather than necessity. Because he's right. I have been holding back. Have been treating him like he's something fragile instead of recognizing that he's exactly as fucked up as I am.
That he needs this to be honest rather than gentle.
I grab his wrists and pin them above his head, using my body weight to hold him in place. The position puts pressure on his ribs and makes his wrapped hand protest, but he doesn't ask me to stop. If anything, his breathing gets heavier.
"Better," he says.
"This is what you want? Me holding you down? Making you take whatever I decide to give you?"
"This is what I want."
But even as he says it, I can see the challenge in his eyes. The part of him that's not going to submit easily. That's going to make me work for every piece of control I think I'm taking.
Good. I don't want this to be easy. I want it to be honest.
I lean down and bite the side of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Hard enough to make him arch beneath me and make a sound that's pure want.
"Mine," I growl against his skin.
"Prove it."
The challenge makes me bite harder, makes me want to mark every inch of him until there's no question about who he belongs to. Until everyone who looks at him knows exactly what kind of claim I have on him.
I work my way down his body again, this time with less reverence and more possession. Biting and sucking and leaving a trail of marks that will last for days. Making sure he understands exactly what it means to belong to someone like me.
When I reach the waistband of his pants, I pause. My hands hover over the button, and I look up at him. The weight of what comes next settles between us like a living thing.
"This changes everything," I say quietly. "Once we cross this line, there's no going back to what we were before."
His ice-blue eyes are dark with want, but I can see the understanding there too. The recognition that we're about to irrevocably alter the landscape between us.
"I know," he says, his voice rough.
I sit back on my heels, my hands stilling completely. "Noah, I need you to understand something. I've never... I've never been the one to bottom before. And I know for a fact that you haven't either."
His breath catches, and I can see the vulnerability flicker across his features before he schools them back into that careful mask.
"Are you sure you want to go through this with me?" I continue, my voice dropping to something raw and honest. "Because once I feel you around me, once I hear you come apart calling my name, I'm never letting you go. And when it's your turn to claim me..." I lean down, my mouth barely brushing his ear. "Once you're inside me, once you see me surrender everything to you, there's no walking away from what we become."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can see him processing the weight of what I'm offering. What we're both offering each other.
"I've never wanted anyone enough to let them see me like that," he admits quietly. "Completely exposed. Completely vulnerable."
"Neither have I."
"But with you..." His hands come up to frame my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "With you, I want everything. I want to know what it feels like to belong to someone completely. And I want you to belong to me the same way."
"Are you sure? Because there's no taking this back, Noah. Once we do this—"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." His voice is fierce, certain. "Take me apart, Enzo. Show me what it means to be yours. And then let me show you what it means to be mine."
The permission breaks the last of my restraint. I make quick work of his pants, pushing them down his legs along with his boxers. When he's finally naked beneath me, I have to stop and just look.
He's beautiful. All pale skin and lean muscle, marked with bruises from tonight's fight and flushed with arousal. The platinum hair, the sharp cheekbones, the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious and dangerous - it's perfect.
"Your turn," he says, tugging at my shirt.
I pull it over my head, and his eyes immediately go to the bruising along my ribs. His fingers trace the marks with reverent care, his touch feather-light across the darkened skin.
"We're a matched set," he observes, his hands spreading wide across my chest, mapping every mark, every scar, every imperfection like he's memorizing them.
"Broken and dangerous."
"Perfect for each other." His palms slide up to my shoulders, then back down, nails dragging lightly across my nipples in a way that makes me hiss and arch into the touch. The sensation shoots straight to my core, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes at my reaction.
When I push my pants down and kick them away, we're finally skin to skin. The contact is electric - every point where our bodies touch sending sparks through my nervous system.
"Look at you," I breathe, my hands mapping the planes of his chest. "You're perfect."
"So are you." His wrapped hand comes up to trace my jawline. "I can't believe you're mine."
"Not yet," I say, settling between his legs. "But I will be."
The promise hangs in the air between us, heavy with possibility and inevitability.
I position myself above him, my knees bracketing his hips, feeling the heat radiating between us. His wrapped hand reaches up to trace my jawline while his good hand grips my thigh with bruising intensity.
"Show me," he breathes, his ice-blue eyes dark with want. "Show me what I unleashed."
I lean down, capturing his mouth again, tasting the metallic edge of adrenaline still on his lips. This kiss is different from the claiming ones before - softer, more intimate, like we're sharing breath and promises. When I pull back, I let my hands map the landscape of his chest, fingers tracing the edges of his bruises with deliberate pressure.
"You're beautiful when you're marked," I tell him, pressing my palm flat against a particularly dark bruise along his ribs. He arches beneath me, and I can feel his body responding, taut and urgent against mine.
My fingers find his nipples, and I scrape my nails across them lightly. The sound he makes is pure desperation - a sharp intake of breath followed by a moan that goes straight to my cock.
"Fuck, do that again," he gasps.
I comply, this time using my teeth instead of my nails. The way he arches off the bed makes me want to map every sensitive spot on his body with my mouth.
"Enzo," he says my name like a prayer, like a demand.
I shift my position, settling more fully against him, and the contact makes us both groan. The friction is electric, every movement sending heat racing through my veins. I can feel how much he wants this, how his body trembles with restraint beneath mine.
"Don't hold back," I growl against his throat. "I want to hear every sound you make."
I reach between us, and when my hand wraps around him for the first time, I have to pause. He's thick and heavy in my palm, already slick with want, and my mouth waters at the thought of what comes next. The way his body bows beneath me when I stroke him is devastating - he's perfect, and he's mine.
"God, Noah," I breathe, unable to hide my reaction to finally having him like this. "You're going to ruin me."
I stroke him slowly, feeling every ridge, every pulse of blood beneath velvet skin. He's already leaking for me, and I use that slickness to my advantage, twisting my wrist in ways that make his hips jerk off the bed.
"Don't close your eyes," I warn. "Keep them on me."
He obeys, even as his body trembles with the effort of maintaining that connection. I continue touching him, learning the rhythm that makes him gasp, the pressure that makes him arch, the exact spot that makes him cry out my name.
When I finally lower my mouth to him, the taste is intoxicating - salt and musk and something uniquely Noah. I start slow, letting my tongue trace patterns that make him curse in languages I don't recognize. When I take him deeper, the weight of him on my tongue makes me groan, the vibration traveling through his body and making his hips buck.
"Fuck, your mouth," he gasps, his wrapped hand pressing against the headboard for leverage. "Enzo, please—"
I pull off him with a wet sound that makes us both shudder. "Please what?"
"More. Everything. I need—" His voice breaks, and I can see the vulnerability in his eyes. "I've never done this before. Been the one to..."
"I know," I say softly, moving up to kiss him. "Neither have I. We'll figure it out together."
I reach for the supplies in his nightstand, and his smile is sharp despite the nerves I can see flickering in his eyes. "Planning ahead?"
"I told you, I plan everything when it comes to you."
I take my time preparing him, starting with one finger slicked with lube. His body is tight, resistant at first, and I can see him trying to relax into the unfamiliar sensation.
"Breathe," I murmur, working him open slowly. "Let me take care of you."
When I add a second finger, he gasps and arches, his body starting to accept the intrusion. I work him patiently, searching for that spot that will make him see stars. When I find it, his reaction is immediate and devastating.
"Fuck!" he cries out, his hips bucking against my hand. "What was—"
"Good?" I ask, stroking that spot again.
"So good. More, Enzo. I'm ready."
But I'm not done preparing him yet. I add a third finger, scissoring them to stretch him further, and by the time I'm satisfied he's ready, he's a trembling, desperate mess beneath me.
"Please," he breathes. "I need you inside me. Now."
I position myself where I want to be - where I need to be. Here I am at the point of no return. I oil us both up thoroughly with the lube, my hands slick as I stroke myself and coat him. I want to make sure this will be a memorable first time for both of us. It takes everything I have to hold back - every instinct is screaming at me to just slam inside him and give him everything I've got. But instead, I position myself at his entrance, the head of my cock pressing against his stretched opening.
"Look at me," I say, my voice rough with restraint. "I want to see your face when I take you for the first time."
We both hold our breath as I begin to push inside, slow and careful despite every instinct telling me to claim him hard and fast. The first breach is overwhelming for both of us. The tight heat of him yielding to me, accepting me, welcoming me home. When I feel myself inside him for the first time, it's magical. Pure fucking magic. Like every broken piece of me suddenly fits together perfectly.
"Christ, Noah," I breathe, barely able to form words as I ease inside slowly, inch by torturous inch. "You feel like heaven."
He's so tight around me, and I can see the way his face contorts - not with pain, but with the intensity of being filled for the first time.
"Breathe," I tell him, though I'm barely managing to follow my own advice. "You're doing so well."
I push in another inch, then another, giving him time to adjust to each new sensation. When I'm finally all the way inside him, we both go completely still. The sensation is beyond description - he's molten heat wrapped around me, tight and perfect and everything I never knew I needed. For a moment, neither of us can breathe.
"Jesus Christ," I whisper, my voice wrecked. "You feel incredible."
His nails dig into my shoulders, leaving crescent marks that will remind me of this moment tomorrow. "I can feel you everywhere," he breathes, wonder in his voice. "So full. So perfect."
I lean down to kiss him, slow and deep, letting us both adjust to the overwhelming intimacy of being joined like this. When I pull back, there are tears in his eyes - not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of it.
"Move," he whispers. "Please, I need you to move."
The first thrust is careful, experimental. The way he cries out - part pleasure, part surprise - makes my vision blur. I never expected it to feel like this, never understood how being inside someone could feel like coming home and losing your mind at the same time.
"How do you feel?" I ask, struggling to maintain control when all I want is to move.
"Like I was made for this. Made for you," he gasps, his legs wrapping tighter around my waist. "Don't hold back. I can take it."
I begin moving against him, slow and deliberate, letting the pressure build between us. Every thrust is controlled, measured, even though every fiber of my being wants to lose control completely. It takes everything I have to hold back - every instinct is screaming at me to just slam inside him and give him everything I've got. But I force myself to maintain this torturous pace because I want him to feel everything. I want this burned into his memory - the way I stretch him, fill him, claim him completely but with reverence.
His hips lift to meet mine, seeking more contact, more friction, more everything. The sounds he makes are raw and desperate, each gasp and whimper making me want to push him further.
"Fuck, the sounds you make," I groan against his throat. "I want to hear all of them."
His response is a broken moan as I find that perfect angle, the one that makes his back arch off the bed and his nails rake down my spine hard enough to draw blood. Being inside him completely changes everything - I understand now why people write poetry about this, why they start wars and burn cities. He's so tight around me, so perfect, that for a moment I forget how to breathe. The way he feels wrapped around me is addictive - I know I'll never get enough of this, of him, of the way we fit together like we were made for each other.
"You feel incredible," I tell him, my voice wrecked. "Like you were made for me. Only me."
I set a rhythm that's claiming rather than gentle, each movement designed to show him exactly who he belongs to. The sounds of our bodies moving together fill the room, along with his broken gasps and the way he says my name like it's the only word he remembers.
"Mine," I growl against his ear, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that makes him arch beneath me.
"Yours," he agrees, his voice wrecked. "Always yours."
The admission breaks something loose inside me, and I lose the last of my careful control. I move harder, faster, chasing the pleasure I can see building in his eyes. His body tightens around me, and I know he's close.
"Come for me," I command, my hand moving between us to stroke him in time with my movements. "Let me see you fall apart."
When he does, it's with my name torn from his throat and his body arching beneath mine like a bow. His nails dig so deep into my back I know I'll be marked for days. The sight of him losing control completely - the way his eyes roll back, the broken sounds he makes, the way his body clamps down on me like a vice - is enough to push me over the edge.
I follow him into that perfect oblivion, burying my face in his neck as my orgasm tears through me. I've never come so hard in my life, never felt anything close to this intensity. When it's over, we're both trembling and gasping, clinging to each other like anchors.
"Fuck," Noah breathes against my shoulder, his voice wrecked. "I didn't know. I never knew it could feel like that."
I lift my head to look at him, taking in his flushed skin, his swollen lips, the way he's looking at me like I've just shown him a new religion.
"Neither did I," I admit, brushing a strand of platinum hair from his forehead. "That was..."
"Magic," he finishes, and his smile is soft and satisfied and absolutely beautiful.
We stay like that for long moments, just breathing together, processing what just happened. When I finally pull out of him, we both wince - him from the sudden emptiness, me from the loss of that perfect heat.
"Come here," he says, pulling me down to lie beside him. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel how we're both still trembling slightly. "That was incredible."
"Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried that I was too rough, too intense.
"More than okay." His fingers trace patterns on my chest, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. "I feel like I finally understand what all the fuss is about."
I laugh, breathless and satisfied. "Just wait until you see what else I can show you."
Something predatory flashes in his eyes. "Actually," he says, his voice taking on that dangerous edge I recognize from the fight, "I think it's my turn to show you something."
After we've both caught our breath, Noah's eyes take on that predatory gleam I recognize from the fight. Before I can react, he's using his superior flexibility to flip our positions, and suddenly I'm the one on my back, looking up at him with surprise and renewed hunger.
"My turn," he says, settling between my legs with that dangerous smile. "You had your chance to claim me. Now I get to show you what it feels like to surrender."
"Noah, I've never—"
"I know." His voice is gentle but firm. "That's exactly why I want to be the one to show you."
I can see the moment I make the decision to surrender control completely. It's written in the way my body relaxes beneath him, in the way my eyes soften with something that looks like wonder.
"Trust me," he says, settling his weight between my legs. "You trusted me with everything else tonight. Trust me with this."
When he begins preparing me, his touch is careful but determined. Each finger is a revelation, teaching my body sensations I never knew existed. The stretch is foreign and overwhelming, but the way he watches my face, learning my reactions, makes trust bloom in my chest.
"Relax," he murmurs, working me open with patient precision. His free hand trails up my chest, nails scraping lightly across my nipples in a way that makes me gasp and arch into the touch. "Let me take care of you."
"I never thought," I gasp as he adds another finger, "never imagined it would feel like this."
"Good or bad?"
"Incredible. Different. Like you're claiming me from the inside out."
When he finds that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes, I cry out and my hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks.
"There," he says with satisfaction. "Found it."
"Jesus, Noah, what was that?"
"Your prostate. And judging by your reaction, I'm going to be spending a lot of time getting acquainted with it."
The promise in his voice makes heat race through my veins. When he finally positions himself and begins to push inside, I understand why he looked so undone when I was claiming him. The sensation is intense beyond description - a fullness that borders on too much, a surrender that goes deeper than physical.
"Breathe," he whispers against my ear as he slowly sinks into me. "Just breathe. You're doing so well."
When he's fully seated inside me, we both go still. Feeling him inside me for the first time is like discovering a new dimension of intimacy I never knew existed. The stretch, the fullness, the complete vulnerability of it - it's terrifying and perfect and exactly what I didn't know I needed.
"How does it feel?" he asks, his voice rough with restraint. I can see the effort it's taking him not to move, to let me adjust.
"Like I'm yours," I admit, the honesty torn from my throat. "Completely yours."
The confession makes something dark and satisfied flash in his eyes. When he begins to move, starting slow and building to something that steals my breath completely, I understand that this changes everything between us. This isn't just about pleasure - it's about trust, about letting someone see you at your most vulnerable, about finding strength in surrender.
My nails rake down his back as he finds that perfect rhythm, leaving red lines that contrast beautifully with his pale skin. The sounds I'm making are embarrassing and desperate, but I can't stop them.
"Never thought," I gasp as he hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes, "never knew it could feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Like coming apart and coming together at the same time."
His hand moves between us to stroke me in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation is overwhelming. The feeling of him filling me so completely while his hand works me with expert precision - it's too much and not enough all at once.
"I want to come with you inside me," I gasp, my voice breaking. "I want to feel you fall apart too."
The raw honesty in my voice makes his entire body clench with need. When we come together, it's with his name on my lips and mine on his, our bodies trembling with the force of it.
We end up tangled together afterward, both of us breathing hard and covered in marks that will be impossible to hide tomorrow. Evidence of what we are to each other. Proof that neither of us knows how to do this in ways that don't leave scars.
"Shower," Noah says after a few minutes, his voice still rough. "We both need a shower."
"Too tired to move."
"Then I'll carry you."
"You have a sprained hand and bruised ribs. You're not carrying anyone anywhere."
His laugh is breathless and satisfied. "Watch me."
But instead of trying to prove his point, he just pulls me closer. Like he's not ready to let go of this moment yet. Like he wants to stay exactly where we are for as long as possible.
"So," he says against my shoulder. "Was that worth the manipulation?"
I laugh, sharp and breathless. "Ask me again when I can think clearly."
"When will that be?"
"Probably never, if you keep looking at me like that."
His smile is satisfied and possessive and absolutely beautiful. "That was the plan."
"You're dangerous."
"So are you." He traces one of the marks he left on my chest, and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes at the evidence of his claim. "That's why this works."
He's right. We're both dangerous. Both fucked up in ways that complement each other perfectly. Both willing to manipulate and lie and risk everything for the chance to claim something that matters.
Both exactly twisted enough to make this work.
"Next time you plan something that puts you at risk," I say, my fingers tangling in his platinum hair, "you tell me first."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll make sure you remember why that's a bad idea."
"Promise?"
The anticipation in his voice makes me understand that this conversation isn't really about partnership or trust or any of the rational things we should probably be discussing. It's about the promise of more nights like this. More honesty. More of the kind of possession that leaves marks and makes you forget about everything except the person who's claiming you.
"I promise."
After another few minutes of just holding each other, Noah finally motivates us both to move. "Come on. Shower. For real this time."
The bathroom is all sleek marble and modern fixtures, designed for luxury rather than efficiency. The shower is easily big enough for both of us, which seems like something Noah planned when he chose this apartment.
"Calculating even in your real estate choices," I observe as we step under the spray.
"I'm calculating about everything when it comes to you."
The honesty in his voice makes something warm settle in my chest. Because that's what tonight was really about. Not just the sex or the claiming or even the honesty about what we need from each other. It was about Noah proving that he's been thinking about this—about us—in ways that go far beyond casual want.
That he's been planning for a future that includes both of us exactly as we are.
"Your turn to wash my back," he says, handing me the soap.
"Demanding."
"You love it when I'm demanding."
He's not wrong. I do love it when he drops the careful politeness and just tells me what he wants. When he stops pretending to be the silent golden boy and becomes someone who takes what he needs without apology.
I work the soap between my hands and start washing his back, being careful around the bruises that are already darkening across his pale skin. The marks from tonight's fight mix with the marks I left on him, creating a map of violence and possession that tells the story of exactly who he is and who he belongs to.
"These are going to be impossible to hide," I say, tracing a particularly dark bruise along his ribs.
"Good. I want people to see them."
"Why?"
"Because I want everyone to know that I'm not untouchable. That I can bleed and fight and take damage just like anyone else." He turns in my arms so he's facing me, water streaming down between us. "And I want them to know that I belong to someone who doesn't handle threats to what's his with restraint or political maneuvering."
The possessive satisfaction in his voice makes heat race through my veins all over again. Because that's exactly what this was about. Noah proving that he's not the careful prince everyone thinks he is. Proving that he's exactly as dangerous as anyone who carries a family name.
And proving that he belongs to someone who's even more dangerous.
"You know what this changes," I say, my hands settling on his hips.
"What?"
"Everything. The way we have to be careful around family. The way we handle the Declan situation. The way people are going to look at us when they see these marks."
"Are you worried about that?"
"Are you?"
He considers the question seriously, like he's actually weighing the political implications of what we just did to each other. Like he's calculating the costs and benefits the way he calculates everything else.
"No," he says finally. "I'm not worried about any of it. Because this was always going to happen. The moment you decided I was worth fighting for, the moment I decided you were worth protecting, this became inevitable."
"So what now?"
"Now we stop pretending that either of us knows how to do this halfway. Now we admit that we're both too fucked up to settle for anything less than complete honesty about what we are."
"And what are we?"
His smile is sharp and beautiful and absolutely predatory. "Monsters who've finally found someone worth being monstrous for."
The water runs cold before we're done talking, but neither of us seems to care. We're too busy mapping the new territory we've claimed tonight. Too busy figuring out what it means to belong to someone who understands exactly what kind of violence lives underneath your skin.
When we finally get out of the shower, Noah wraps a towel around his waist and starts examining his reflection in the mirror. Taking inventory of the marks I left on him with obvious satisfaction.
"Matteo's going to take one look at me tomorrow and know exactly what happened," he says.
"Will that bother you?"
"No. Will it bother you when Mikhail figures it out?"
"No." I move to stand behind him, my hands settling on his shoulders. In the mirror, we look like exactly what we are. Two people who've claimed each other completely. Two people who've stopped hiding what they're capable of when it comes to protecting what matters.
"Good," he says, leaning back against my chest. "Because I'm done hiding what we are from anyone."
We end up back in bed, this time just to hold each other. To process what just happened and what it means for everything else in our lives. To figure out how to navigate a world that's going to look very different now that we've stopped pretending to be anything other than exactly what we are.
"The tournament," Noah says after a while, his voice quiet in the darkness.
"What about it?"
"Declan was there tonight. I saw him watching you. Watching Valentina."
The reminder of the threat that started all this makes something cold settle in my chest. Because as much as tonight was about us, it was also about the larger game we're playing. The dangerous people who think they can threaten what belongs to us.
"What's the next phase?" I ask.
"We let him think he's in control. Let him believe that the tournament is just entertainment, that you're distracted by me, that he has time to plan whatever he's planning."
"And then?"
"And then we show him exactly what happens when someone threatens our family."
The casual way he says our family makes something warm and possessive settle in my chest. Because that's what this is now. Not just his family or my family, but ours. Something we're both willing to protect with the same ruthless efficiency we brought to claiming each other.
"When?" I ask.
"When you're fully healed. When your ribs can handle the kind of fight this is going to become." He turns in my arms so he can see my face. "Because this time, we do it together. No more keeping each other in the dark. No more protection through manipulation."
"Partnership."
"Real partnership. The kind where we trust each other enough to be honest about what we're planning and what we're capable of."
"Even when it's dangerous?"
"Especially when it's dangerous."
The promise in his voice makes me understand that everything has changed tonight. Not just between us, but in how we're going to handle every threat that comes our way. No more careful political maneuvering. No more pretending to be anything other than exactly what we are.
Monsters who've found someone worth being monstrous for.
"I love you," I say, the words falling from my lips before I can think better of them.
He goes very still in my arms. For a moment, I think I've said too much too soon. That I've broken whatever spell we've been weaving tonight.
Then he smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I love you too," he says. "My beautiful devil."
And just like that, everything falls into place. The tournament. The threats. The families and politics and all the complicated shit that comes with living in our world.
None of it matters as much as this. As the recognition that we've found someone who understands exactly what we are and wants us anyway.
Someone worth fighting for. Someone worth killing for. Someone worth building a life with, no matter how twisted or dangerous that life becomes.
My beautiful, manipulative monster.
Mine.