Tom’s frustration had been simmering for weeks, boiling just beneath the surface. He could no longer deny how much he wanted you, how deeply you had sunk into his every thought. The more he allowed himself to acknowledge his feelings, the more fear crept in, tightening his chest.

"Will you forever be the prize that I am aimlessly trying to win?" His voice was low, but the intensity of his gaze pierced through you. His eyes bore into your soul, searching, pleading.

You let out a soft scoff, trying to mask the way his words affected you. "Is that what I am to you? A trophy?" There was a hint of challenge in your voice, but beneath it, your vulnerability crept in.

Tom sighed, the intensity in his expression softening, though his intensity remained. He stepped closer, and you felt the warmth of his breath as he lifted his hand to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Oh, darling," he whispered, his tone filled with something raw, almost desperate. "A trophy implies that I won it... earned it... deserved it."

His fingers trailed lightly down your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw, and you felt your breath catch as he paused at your chin. With a firm but gentle touch, he tilted your head upward, forcing your eyes to meet his. The weight of his emotions hung thick in the air.

"But if I get to have you," Tom’s lips hovered just above yours, barely a breath apart, "it will be because you let me."