The air in the room was still thick with tension. My body still hummed with heat from the moment Adrian had nearly crossed the line yesterday, the memory of his hands, his teeth grazing my skin, and the desperate, raw possessiveness in his eyes etched itself into my mind. I shivered, both from lingering desire and the sharp sting of adrenaline.

He had retreated a step after I had screamed Anchor, but even at a distance, his presence pressed against me like a living weight. His dark gaze followed my every movement, stormy, dangerous, and unreadable. The photograph of Cassian and me, the kiss that should have been inconsequential, had ignited something primal in him—a jealousy so raw it made me ache in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“Sit,” he commanded, voice low but steady, dragging me from the swirl of my thoughts. I obeyed, perching on the edge of the chaise in the corner of the room, legs crossed, hands fidgeting in my lap.

Adrian stepped closer, pacing just in front of me, long strides closing the space until he was only inches away. “We need to talk,” he said, jaw tight. “About him. About this—this triangle you’re playing with.”

My stomach dropped. “Adrian, I—”

“No. You don’t get to start explaining yet,” he snapped, voice low, dangerous. “I need to hear exactly why you would even let that happen. Why you kissed him.”

I inhaled slowly, trying to steady my racing heart. “It wasn’t about him,” I said carefully. “It was… curiosity. I was… testing my own reactions, seeing what I want. What I need. But you… you don’t need to lose control over it. You told me—over and over—you said we’d talk, we’d discuss boundaries. And this—” I gestured at the photograph still lying on the coffee table, “—this isn’t the way. You can’t let jealousy control you, Adrian.”

He stiffened, dark eyes narrowing. “You think I wanted to see that?” His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “You think I wanted to see you with him?”

“I didn’t!” I said, voice rising slightly, emotion spilling over. “But you need to control yourself, Adrian. You promised me. We set the rules. You can’t—can’t just lose it every time something like this happens. You’re supposed to trust me. You’re supposed to trust us.”

He paused, jaw working as he exhaled sharply. “Do you realize what it does to me? To see someone else touch you? Kiss you? To see you respond?” His voice dropped to a growl, low and guttural. “Sophie… it makes me want to take control in ways that aren’t safe. Ways we agreed not to cross. And you… you tempt me.”

I flinched, shivering at the weight behind his words. He wasn’t just speaking about jealousy—he was confessing a need, a hunger, and it terrified me in a way that thrilled me at the same time. I forced myself to meet his gaze, steadying my trembling hands.

“I know, Adrian,” I said softly, tone firm despite my fluttering chest. “And that’s why we need rules. That’s why we agreed on Anchor. You need to stop letting desire dictate your actions, because if you don’t, it’s not just dangerous—it’s destructive. I need to feel safe. I need to know you can hold yourself back. Even for me.”

He froze at the words, eyes darkening with a mix of guilt, need, and frustration. “Safe?” he repeated, voice tight. “You think I want to hold myself back?”

“No,” I whispered, standing slowly to meet him, matching his intensity. “I don’t think you want to. But I need you to. If you can’t… if you can’t control it… then none of this works. None of this is sustainable. You said it yourself—you promised me a safe word, limits, consent. That hasn’t changed. The rules are still rules, Adrian. I am still the one who calls Anchor, not you.”

He exhaled, slow and ragged, taking a step back. His jaw worked, dark storm clouds in his eyes threatening to spill over. “You’re… stronger than I expected,” he muttered, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You actually demand that I control myself. Even after seeing that kiss, after… everything.”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Because you have to. I can’t—won’t—be controlled by your jealousy or your anger. I’ve survived a lot of control in my life. I will not let it happen again, Adrian. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

The room fell silent for a moment, thick with tension, both of us breathing a little heavier. I could feel the ache between my legs returning, low and insistent, a reminder of the fire he stirred in me even without touching me.

A dark rumble of satisfaction passed through his chest, and for a moment, the storm in his eyes softened. “I’ll try,” he admitted, voice low. “God, I’ll try. But you… you tempt me. You always will. And him”—he gestured toward the photograph again—“makes it worse. Seeing you with someone else, even once…” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I hate it. I hate feeling this way. And I hate that you can make me feel it so strongly.”

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