I jerk my body away when he sits beside me on the bed. The last thing I want is to have another round with Dad, this time for kicking my boyfriend out.

When he tugs on the blankets I’m using to fortify myself, I let free a pitiful whimper. His gasp has my eyes snapping open. Mmm. Not licorice. It’s Morning Glories and Sunshine.

“Hey.” He tips his head to the side, surveying me. “What’s all this? Yeesh. I promise not to suggest lying again.”

For the record, I didn’t lie to my father. I just bent the truth as far as it can go without breaking.

Derry wipes at the free-flowing tears streaming from my eyes. My relief he’s not Dad, embarrassment from my overreaction, and exhaustion combine into one heaping garbage pile of emotion. My reaction to that pile? Naturally, it’s to sob dramatically. He instantly wraps me in his arms, rubbing circles on my back.

“Where. Did. He. Go?” It takes me a long time to get my question out, each word punctuated by a sniff or wail.

“To the hospital. Shh,” he soothes me. “He asked me to keep watch.”

“What else did he say?”

“He told me to take care of you. Said he trusted me to do that.”

I look straight into his gloriously golden eyes, searching for any sign of dishonesty. None exist.

“That’s because I’m not lying.” He lifts a brow. “I wouldn’t lie to you, not even when your empathy is recharging.”

I sigh. “That’s all he said?”

Derry smirks, and I glower. “He also told me I get one chance. If I blow it, I’m answering to him.”

“It’s probably safer than answering to me.”

“Sweetheart, this apple hasn’t fallen far from that tree. My armpits are damp.”

I laugh, snuggling closer.

“Tired?”

“Nope,” I lie.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Mind-reader.”

“Rude.” I slap him playfully on the arm. “That’s a perimeter breach.”

He grins. “Were you fortifying a boundary?”

“What if I was? Your ants are a menace.”

“Good luck with that,” he muses, dipping down so his lips hover over mine.

Sucking in an involuntary breath has his scent traveling straight to my tinder heart. Derry registers my active volcano and, borderline aggressively, frees himself.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“No,” he scolds.

I scoff. “Who’s hastily erecting barriers now?”

“I thought you were tired?”

“I was.”

“You should lie down and get some rest.”

I flutter my lashes. “I’m not tired anymore.”

He’s riding the bed edge, prepared to flee if I cross the invisible line.

“You did tell my father you were taking care of me,” I remind him.

“I doubt that’s what he had in mind.”

“It’s what I have in mind.” I worry my lip. “I thought you weren’t scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you.” His jaw ticks. “Scared is not the emotion I’m feeling.”

My volcano rumbles appreciatively. Whew, what a relief. I was getting a complex.

“Rude,” he reiterates my previous sentiment.

“Okay, but I’m cold. Don’t you have a duty to warm me up?”

“You’re not cold. I feel the heat coming off you from over here.”

I pull the blankets the rest of the way down, mock turtle speed. Am I fighting fair? Nope. Do I feel a flicker of guilt for it? Not even the tiniest flicker. My heart’s bruising itself against my ribcage. “A goodnight kiss, at least?”

“That I can do.”

He braces himself with the edge of the mattress while I wind my hands in his hair, pulling him forward. He shouldn’t have given me an inch. Point to me.

My tongue trawls his bottom lip, tracing the seam when it quivers. He tries pulling away, knowing he has only seconds to cut me off before he loses himself. Resistance is futile, Sledge.

The mattress strains where he’s holding it, and I press my advantage. Instead of releasing my flame, I keep it steady, letting it bubble up but not enough to leak over the edges. He doesn’t want to take any power from me. His concern is I won’t have enough to give. This is my compromise. I might just get him to concede if I can prove my restraint.

It works! He kisses me back, his chaste response melding into an alluring convection of stoke and suppress. He releases the bed, sliding his hands around my waist and pulling me on top of him. Letting me lead is a bad idea on his part. I’m far less apt to hit the brakes. More points to me.

When I try to guide his hands under my shirt, he grabs the hem, holding on for dear life. My fire bubbles over, but I’m still in control. I direct it to my limbs, where it licks through my veins. Taking his lip between my teeth, I savor the sweetness. His responding groan is disgruntled.

The heat doubles again, my fire maximizing until it seems we’ll permanently fuse together. Slick with sweat, our friction drives me on. My breaths come in shallow gulps as I trail kisses along his cheeks and down his neck.

“Sheyla,” he murmurs. “Slow. Down. Too. Fast.”

He isn’t asking me to stop. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Do I want to? Yeah, no. I absolutely don’t want to. My body is on autopilot. I can’t do anything except sit back and enjoy the ride…or tip forward and enjoy the glide. Either. Or.

He surprises me by flipping us. I’m barely reorienting myself from the dizzying effect when his lips kiss a fire line across my collarbone. The flame inside me lets loose, consuming the blood in my veins until nothing is left but a smoldering pile of ash.

With each kiss, each touch, the fire ignites like a phoenix rising from that ash. I’m dying over and over, and he’s the one bringing me back. It’ll always be him. He’s everything to me.

I feel every bit of his excitement through my thin lounging pants. I want to set fire to every piece of clothing keeping him from me. I need him closer.

My breaths are coming in short spurts, my heart hammering out of my chest, while scorching heat makes camp in my stomach, circling my intestines.

I lose sight of the fire fuel valve, the flame pouring out with unmanageable velocity. Suddenly, every muscle in my body tightens reflexively as my volcano erupts. Derry absorbs the fallout, disengaging the energy flow.

I blink, confused by what just happened.

He rises up, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I love you,” he whispers.

I’m too shocked by the words to say anything back. Also, did I just…

He smirks, pulling the retreating blankets over us. We stay silent for what feels like an eternity before he shifts us so I’m resting on his chest. “Night, Sweetheart,” he coos.

My response is lost to a heavy drain. My limbs are osmium weights I don’t care to lift. I won’t let him go, even if it means spending a millennium coercing him into being with me completely. That little taste test reminded me how hungry I am. He’s not cake, but he’ll do.