“No, sweetheart. I could never risk hurting you.” Benedict’s voice was firm, resolute, a gentle but immovable wall against your pleas. He shut you down instantly, not out of annoyance, but out of love. He was caught in a quiet storm within himself.

To put it simply, Benedict was a werewolf. Midnight transformations, heightened senses, the primal edge that came with it.. yes, that was his reality. But his supernatural nature wasn’t his only burden.

He was also in love.

And not just with anyone. With you, someone he saw as endlessly gentle, heartbreakingly fragile, and yet, somehow, fearlessly accepting. You hadn’t flinched when he told you the truth. You hadn’t turned away. You’d listened, nodded, and simply said, “Okay.” That unwavering trust, that unconditional love, was what undid him most.

He adored that about you. Fur or no fur, fangs or smiles, you loved him.

Which is precisely why he hesitated. Yes, he had control during his transformation. Yes, he could think, speak, even hold a conversation. But something inside him still worried. He couldn’t shake the thought: What if I slip? What if I lose control for even a second?

But you, persistent as ever, never let up. Ever since that fateful conversation, you had been nothing but curious, hopeful, even a little pushy. You wanted to see him, truly see him. All of him. The parts hidden away from the world. The sides only the moon had witnessed.

“My love,” Benedict murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I thought, even for a moment, that I had put you in harm’s way.”

He frowned gently, glancing down at you where you sat between his legs on the floor, your lips curled into your most deliberate pout, eyes pleading as they met his.

“What if I want you to hurt me?” you whispered, your fingers slowly reaching for his belt buckle, your gaze never leaving his. Wide, imploring, laced with a calculated softness. If sadness hadn’t moved him to show the side of himself you were seeking, perhaps desire would.

And of course, you were right. You saw it in the subtle shift of his features: the way his canines seemed to lengthen, pressing against his lower lip, the growing sharpness of his claws as they curled against his thighs. Wisps of fur peeked from the collar of his shirt, a telltale sign that his restraint was slipping. His animalistic instincts were stirring beneath the surface, rising faster than he could contain.

“Okay…” he muttered, breath catching as his eyes locked onto yours. “Upstairs. Yeah, let’s go upstairs.”