Home shouldn’t have felt like a threshold. I flicked the lights on. But with him inside it, it did —a door between safety and hunger. I set my bag down. Keys. Phone. A ritual of control. He watched me do it — leaning against the entryway wall, jacket off, shirt undone just enough to look like temptation had already touched him once tonight. I didn’t invite him — he simply followed me inside like he belonged here. Maybe he did.
He didn’t move to touch me at first. His silence wasn’t passive. It was intent. A rope, invisible but tightening, drawing me toward him without a single command. I turned. Slow. Deliberate. He watched the motion like it was currency. He moved behind me now — close enough to warm the back of my neck, far enough to force me to choose.
“Say it again,” I murmured.
“Wh
