Her breath catches, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. And then, in a small voice, she asks, "What are we to each other?"

I slow to a stop at the light, turning fully toward her. "As far as I'm concerned?" I tilt my head. "You're mine."

Her eyes widen, like she wasn't expecting that answer. "Don't you think that's a little fast?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I lift an eyebrow, watching her closely. "I don't know, Izzy," I murmur. "You tell me. Is it too fast for you? Because I'll take it as slow as you need."

She swallows, looking away for a beat, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress.

"No," she finally says, shaking her head. "I just...I want to be fair to you. I don't want to treat you like some amazing rebound."

"Amazing, huh?"

She groans, smacking my arm. "That's what you took from that?"

I chuckle, turning back toward the road as the light changes.

"Just making sure I heard you correctly."

She crosses her arms, huffing dramatically, but I see the small smile playing on her lips.

"You're infuriating."

"I've been called worse."

She snorts, and we fall into a comfortable silence as I pull into her apartment complex.

I shift the car into park and glance at her, watching as she twists her fingers in her lap, like she's hesitating.

She turns to me, her eyes soft. "You're gonna stay, right?"

I tilt my head. "Is that what you want?"

She doesn't answer.

Not with words.

Instead, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.

Bold. Decisive. Confident.

I love it.

I slide a hand into her hair, pulling her closer, savoring her taste, feeling her desire as she presses against me, giving herself over completely.

When she finally pulls away, her breath is uneven, her fingers still curled into my shirt.

"I could never," I murmur, brushing my lips against hers again, "and will never say no to you."

Izzy's apartment feels different now.

Familiar in a way that I like too much. Comfortable in a way that makes me feel like I belong here. We step inside, and she presses a soft kiss to my cheek before whispering, "Be right back."

She disappears into the bedroom. I watch her go before heading to the kitchen. I grab a bottle of wine, pour two glasses, and settle onto her sofa, rolling the stem of the glass between my fingers as I pull out my phone.

First order of business—a text to my dad.

Happy Easter. How about a call soon?

I stare at it, thumb hovering over the send button.

I press send.

Baby steps.

I exhale, setting the phone down, stretching my legs out in front of me.

The device buzzes almost immediately. I glance down expecting one of my guys from the store, because I don't really get many texts these days.

It's not.

It's Izzy.

Messaging Caleb.

I sit up slightly, my grip tightening around the glass. Yesterday, Caleb gave her an instruction. A task. He told her to take a picture of herself when she was feeling confident. I didn't push. Didn't remind her. I figured she'd take her time.

But now—here she is.

I tap into the chat, watching the dots appear as she types.

Pretty Girl

hi

Caleb

hi, pretty girl

it's taken me some time to complete your task

I noticed

shhhh, okay, here goes

She's nervous. She doesn't need to be, but I fucking love it. I watch the dots bounce again.

i think i'm about to be intimate with cal

I freeze. Then—I smirk.

Intimate, huh?

I can practically hear her exasperated sigh through the screen.

YES!

and i picked out an outfit

Yes. I wanna see, pretty girl.

The dots bounce, a moment passes, and then the photo comes through.

She's standing in front of her full-length mirror, her phone in one hand, her other resting lightly on her hip.

She's in red lace.

A sheer, delicate corset that hugs her curves in all the right places. Straps crisscrossing over her shoulders, dipping between her perfect breasts. Lace panties—thin, tiny, sinful—attach to garters clipped to sheer thigh-high stockings. Her juicy thighs are spilling over the top just begging to be squeezed.

Her lips are slightly parted. Her cheeks flushed. Her hair spilling over her shoulders in loose waves. And the way she's looking at herself⁠—

Fuck.

I shift, adjusting my cock, gritting my teeth against the instant, overwhelming need flooding through me. She's so fucking perfect. And she's finally starting to see it.

caleb?

Fuck, pretty girl, I was just jizzing in my pants from the sight of this.

OMG STOP OKAY I HAVE TO GO

Wait!

WHAT??

Do you wanna use the vibrator and invite me? It could be a threeway.

omg goodbye forever lol

I chuckle, shaking my head, my chest tight with so many fucking emotions I don't even know where to put them.

And then, I hear it. The soft creak of a bedroom door. I don't need to turn around. I already know what's on the other side. I close out of the app, setting my phone face-down, adjusting the growing ache in my jeans. I look up and there she is.

She lingers in the doorway in the outfit she sent me. I let out a slow breath, pulse hammering as I take her in. She moves just enough to show the nerves beneath the surface, but her gaze lifts, reading every inch of my face.

She knows. And she’s daring me to show it.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out, unable to stop the words.

She steps forward, slightly. Her lips curve into a small, teasing smile.

"So?" she murmurs, tilting her head.

"What do you think?"

Am I really going to do this with her? Because I shouldn't. I told myself I wouldn't. Not until I came clean. Not until I told her the truth. That every seductive word I've whispered in her ear as Caleb—it's been me. That every time I turned her on, made her moan, built her confidence through the phone and through that vibrator—it's been me.

I need to be honest with her now. I should pause this moment and confess before we cross this line. I should speak the truth.

But then I look at her, standing in the doorway, wearing that lace, that fucking sinful lace, her body on display, her confidence soaring, her lips quirked in a teasing smile as she waits for me.

And I can't.

If I tell her now—it could ruin this.

Not just for me. For her.

For the first time in her life, she's feeling herself. She's standing there in that outfit, owning it, showing me exactly what she wants, stepping into this version of herself that isn't weighed down by insecurity or doubt or fear. If I stop this—if I put any hesitation in her head, make her feel like this isn't exactly where she should be right now—I'll be taking that away from her.

And I can't fucking do that to her.

Not now.

Not tonight.

I inhale, steadying my voice, forcing the words out, deep and controlled.

"Come here, pretty girl."