Every nerve in my body leaned toward his voice. “We are not casual,” he said. “We are not undefined. We are not pretending that what happened in my penthouse was a lapse in judgment.” My heart pounded, “And I’m not asking for your obedience,” he added. “I’m asking for your consistency.”
“And what do you think that looks like?” I whispered.
He studied me with terrifying sincerity. “It looks like you are not running.” My pulse stuttered. “It looks like you're telling me when something scares you instead of disappearing.” His voice dropped lower. “It looks like you understand that when I push, it’s because I know what you can handle — not because I want to own you.” He waited, letting the words settle. “And it looks like you trust that I will never take what you don’t give.”
The weight of
