I shouldn’t have fucked her in the car.
Not because I regret it. Not because it was messy or impulsive or crossed another line I swore I’d never bend for anyone.
But because now I can’t stop remembering how she looked when she came.
Like it cost her something. Like she was giving herself over and daring me not to ruin it.
She didn’t beg. Not in words. But her body did.
Her mouth, her breath, the way she dug her nails into my neck like she could anchor us both to reality. It was desperation and devotion tangled in skin.
And I gave in.
Now I’m in the gym, pounding out the memory like it’s a toxin. My fists slam against the bag hard enough that my knuckles throb through the wraps. One. Two. Again.
Sweat drips into my eyes, salt stinging, but I don’t wipe it. I deserve the burn. I welcome it.
I’ve brought plenty of women to that tower. None of them touched me like she did. None of them made me forget myself in the backseat of a damn car, not even bothering with protocol. With control.
I never left my mother’s house in the middle of dinner, either.
Until last night.
The second Helena called Floris “untamed,” something snapped. It wasn’t the insult. It was the tone.
The same tone she used on my father—cutting, cold, polished to sound like reason but aimed to gut. She used to humiliate him in silence. Offer tea after locking him out.
Tell him he needed to “deserve” his dinner. That kind of love came with terms. She made us both beg without ever raising her voice.
I told myself I was different.
That I became the storm so I’d never drown in hers again. But now Floris is caught in the rip current I built. And the worst part? I don’t want her to escape.
I hit the bag harder.
Everything inside me is boiling.
The way she moaned my name yesterday. The way she looked at my mother like she saw through the pearls and designer lies.
The way she leaned against the window afterward, skin flushed, mouth swollen, like she knew she’d crossed a threshold and had no way back.
And I let her.
I let her because I wanted to know if it was real. If anything between us was real. I can’t afford that question—not with her. Not with anyone.
Helena always said love was a liability. That people who fall for anyone other than themselves end up gutted, crawling, emptied out.
She said it while brushing my hair. She said it while icing her bruises.
I believed her. But Floris makes me wonder.
What if she’s not a weakness? What if she’s the match that sets the entire machine on fire?
She’s unpredictable. Reckless. But she’s also the only one who ever looked at me like she wanted the monster and the man.
Like she wanted to see the bones of everything I hide.
And it’s going to destroy us both.
The punching bag sways from the last hit, lazy and breathless like me. My heart thunders in my chest, lungs raw from the silence I’ve kept all damn day.
I head back up. Shower. Suit. No time to fix what can’t be fixed. Just enough time to lock it down again.