The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting golden hues across Drew’s face as he hovered over you. The air between you was thick, heavy with an unspoken tension that had been building all night—through the lingering touches, the stolen glances, the way his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns on your skin.

You weren’t even sure how it started. One moment, you were lying side by side, tangled up in each other’s warmth, his lips brushing idly against your jaw, your neck. The next, you were beneath him, his weight pressing down in the most intoxicating way.

His breath was warm against your lips as he whispered, “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. You wouldn’t.

Instead, you arched up into him, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer until your lips met in a kiss that was slow, deep—needy. His hips rolled into yours, a teasing friction that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your gasp was barely audible, but he heard it. Felt it. Drew exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to yours, like he was trying to steady himself.

“This—” His voice was rough, his hands gripping your waist as he moved against you again, “—is driving me crazy.”

You whimpered, hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. It was overwhelming—this push and pull, this torturous, intoxicating rhythm.

Nothing between you, yet everything.

His lips found yours again, desperate, hungry, as if he couldn’t get close enough. “You feel so good,” he groaned, and God, you thought you might lose your mind.

This wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t mindless. It was intentional. Slow. An intimacy that was deeper than anything else you’d ever felt.

Then he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his breath shaky…