Tyler's mouth moves against mine with a restraint that feels foreign on him—soft pressure, careful angles, none of punishing intensity.
His hand cups my jaw like I'm made of glass, thumb tracing my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
This isn't the Tyler who pinned me to a bookshelf. This isn't the Tyler who ground his hips against mine and whispered cruel things designed to humiliate.
This Tyler is holding back so hard I can feel him trembling with the effort.
I lean into the kiss, my fingers finding the damp fabric of his shirt, and his breath catches against my lips.
The sound undoes something in me—a thread of tension I didn't know I was holding, unraveling with each careful brush of his mouth.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, asking permission instead of demanding entry. I open for him, and the taste of salt and exertion floods my senses.
He kisses deeper, slower.
My hands slide up his chest, feeling the rapid pound of his heart beneath my palm. He's not as controlled as he's pretending to be.
The realization sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
"Tyler," I breathe against his mouth, and the sound of his name makes him groan.
His hand moves from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. The grip tightens instinctively, pulling my head back to expose my throat, and for a moment I see the real Tyler surface—hungry, possessive, barely leashed.
Then his other hand grabs my hip, and his fingers dig in exactly where the bruises from our guestroom collision haven't finished healing.
I hiss with pain before I can stop myself.
He releases me immediately, both hands lifting away like I've burned him. His eyes fly open—pale blue and dilated, filled with a concern that looks almost painful on his sharp features.
"Fuck." The word comes out ragged. "Did I hurt you?"
"It's fine." I reach for him, but he's already pulling back, putting distance between us. "Tyler, it's fine. You just hit a bruise from earlier."
"A bruise I gave you." His jaw tightens, and I watch him rebuild his walls brick by brick. "When I was chasing you through the house like a goddamn animal."
"If I recall correctly, I started that particular fight by throwing a vase at your head." I close the distance he created, my hand finding his chest again. "We're even on the injury count."
He stares down at me, something warring behind his eyes. His breathing hasn't steadied. Neither has mine.
"Come here," I murmur, and I pull him back down to my mouth.
The kiss resumes—still careful, still restrained, but with an undercurrent of urgency that builds with each passing second. His hands find safer territory—my shoulders, my back, the curve of my waist above the bruised hip.
I want more.
The wanting surprises me with its intensity. I've spent weeks drowning in confusion, caught between three men who each pull me in different directions.
But right now, in this moment, there's only Tyler. Only the heat of his body against mine, the taste of him on my tongue, the desperate sound he makes when I scrape my teeth against his lower lip.
I shift my weight, trying to move closer, trying to climb into his lap and eliminate every inch of space between us.
His hands clamp down on my hips—gentle this time, but firm.
"Don't." The word comes out strangled.
"Why not?"
He pulls back far enough to look at me, and his expression makes my stomach flip. Hunger and hesitation, desire and something that looks almost like fear.
"Because you're a virgin, Ellie."
The words land like a slap. I feel heat flood my cheeks—embarrassment and indignation tangling together until I can't separate them.
"How could you possibly know that?"
The corner of his mouth twitches, and I see the cruel Tyler surface for just a moment—the one who deflects vulnerability with venom.
"Please. You kiss like you learned from a YouTube tutorial, and you gasp every time I touch you like you've never been touched before." His voice drips with familiar mockery. "It's painfully obvious."
The insult should sting. It should send me scrambling away from him, dignity in tatters, walls rebuilt. Yet, I stay exactly where I am.
"And?" I hold his gaze without flinching. "What difference does it make?"
His smirk falters. He wasn't expecting me to push back—wasn't expecting me to absorb the blow and keep standing.
"I'm a bad choice for your first time." The cruelty drains from his voice, replaced by something rawer. "I don't do gentle, I don't do sweet, and I definitely don't do meaningful morning-after conversations."
"Who said I wanted any of those things?"
"You should want them." His hands are still on my hips, and I can feel his fingers flexing—caught between pushing me away and pulling me closer. "Your first time should be with someone who gives a shit about more than just getting off."
"Like Derek?" The name escapes before I can weigh the consequences.
Tyler's expression darkens instantly. "Don't."
"Why not?" I tilt my head, watching the jealousy flare in his pale eyes. "He's kind. He's patient. He'd probably light candles and put on soft music and make the whole thing Instagram-worthy."
"I said don't."
"I'm tired of men in this house deciding what's best for me." The anger rises without warning, hot and righteous and completely genuine. "You're pushing me away because you've decided I deserve better. Has it occurred to you that I might have opinions about my own body?"
"This isn't about—"
"It's exactly about that." I shove at his chest, but he doesn't budge. "I'm not some precious flower that needs protecting. I'm a grown woman who's tired of waiting like virginity is something sacred."
"Ellie—"
"I don't want candles, Tyler. I don't want soft music or meaningful conversations." My voice comes out fiercer than I intended. "I want you."
He stares at me, jaw clenched, hands still locked on my hips.
He doesn't move.
My patience snaps like a wire pulled too tight.
"Fine." I wrench myself out of his grip and turn toward the gym doors. "If you're not interested, I'll go find a more willing brother."
"Derek's not home."
"Then I'll wait for him in his bedroom." I keep walking, my bare feet slapping against the polished floor. "Fully ready. Maybe I'll even take my clothes off so he doesn't have to waste time on preliminaries."
"Bitch." I'm almost at the exit when I hear him curse behind me—a savage, guttural sound that echoes off the gym walls.
Then footsteps. Fast and furious and closing the distance.
His hand catches my wrist, yanking me backward, spinning me toward him. My back hits the glass door with a thud, and suddenly he's everywhere—chest pressed against mine, breath hot on my face, eyes blazing.
"You're not going anywhere near his bedroom," he growls. "You understand me?"
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