The night clung to him like blood.

Jeremy slammed the door shut behind him, chest rising fast, shoulders rigid, his whole body thrumming with barely-contained rage. He didn’t bother with the lights—didn’t need to. Darkness suited him better than the hollow calm of a lamp.

But you weren’t darkness.

You padded out from the bedroom barefoot, drowning in one of his sweatshirts, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. And just like that—everything inside him shifted. The fury, the noise, the fucking weight of it all—it didn’t vanish, but it found somewhere to go. Straight into you.

“Jeremy?” Your voice was soft, careful.

He didn’t answer with words. He stalked forward, caught your face in his hands, and kissed you hard enough to steal your breath. A collision of teeth, heat, and raw need.

You gasped, fingers clutching at his shirt, but you didn’t pull away. You never did. You let him pour it all into you—the violence, the exhaustion, the hunger he couldn’t put anywhere else.

He walked you back until your spine hit the wall, his mouth dragging down your jaw, your neck, biting hard enough to make you gasp his name again. His hands pushed under the sweatshirt, finding bare skin, gripping your hips like he might lose his mind if he let go.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered against your throat, voice wrecked, low. “Only you.”

The couch barely caught the two of you when he pulled you down with him, hauling you onto his lap. The city hummed outside, but inside—it was only heat, only breath, only you.

He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, his grip bruising on your thigh. “You’re the only place I can fucking breathe,” he growled, before his mouth claimed yours again—rough, hungry, desperate to consume every inch of you.