You shouldn’t have let it get this far.

Izana wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight.

Your parents were downstairs, moving around the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and low conversation drifting up through the floorboards. He’d climbed through your bedroom window an hour ago like it was nothing, like sneaking into your room while your family was home was just another thrill to chase. That reckless grin of his had dared you to send him away.

You didn’t.

Now you’re straddling his lap on your bed, your fingers still twisted in the fabric of his shirt.

“Fuck—”

you pant, pulling back slightly when your mom calls your name again from downstairs. Reality crashes in all at once.

Izana just watches you.

He’s leaning back against the headboard like he owns the place, violet eyes half-lidded, amused. His shirt hangs open, unbuttoned and slipping off one shoulder. Red lipstick stains mark his skin, your lipstick, across his jaw, his throat, the corner of his mouth.

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure your parents can hear it.

“They’re going to come up here,”

you whisper, breathless, glancing toward the door.

Izana’s hand tightens on your thigh, warm and possessive. Slowly, deliberately, it slides up to your hips, keeping you exactly where you are.

“Ignore them.”

His voice is low, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to it. He leans forward this time, closing the small distance you created, his nose brushing yours. A soft, impatient whine leaves him, rare, unguarded, because you pulled away first.

“Don’t stop.”

He tilts his head up, lips parted in invitation, eyes fixed on yours like you’re the only thing that matters in this room.