I should have known this would happen.
I should have known that making Edward my "contracted lover" was like handing a match to a man standing in a room full of gasoline.
Because now?
I was burning.
Constantly burning.
Every knock on my door, every vibration of my phone, every accidental memory of his mouth
God.
I was losing my mind.
And he knew it.
The first session after our "rules" was supposed to be casual.
It wasn't.
He had barely stepped inside my apartment when he pinned me to the wall, his lips at my ear.
"You missed me," he whispered.
"I didn't"
He bit my earlobe. Gently.
I gasped.
"Mmh," he murmured, "try lying again."
I shoved him weakly. "Edward, we said"
But he lifted my chin with two fingers, forcing me to look directly at him.
"No lies," he reminded me. "Rule six."
His breath ghosted over my cheek. His body caged mine like he owned every inch of the space around me.
I swallowed. "Fine. I missed you."
His grin was slow. Wicked. Pleased.
"I know."
Then he kissed me no, consumed me.
His tongue swept into my mouth like he'd been starved. His hands traced my sides, slipping under my shirt, sliding up my ribs until I lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
I hooked my leg around his hip, instinctive, needy, pathetic.
He made a sound low, throaty, approving.
"Good," he breathed against my lips. "Don't fight it."
How was I supposed to fight something that felt like gravity itself?
When he lifted me, I wrapped my legs around him without thinking. He carried me to the bedroom like I weighed nothing.
"Edward"
"Shh," he murmured, laying me down. "Let me ruin you properly this time."
And he did.
Slowly.
Expertly.
Almost tenderly.
He kissed every inch of my skin like he was memorizing it. He used his mouth on me until I was arching, shaking, begging literally begging for release.
When he finally slid into me, my whole body reacted like it recognized him. Like this was where he fit. Like this was how it was supposed to be.
He moved with this deep, steady rhythm that made my thoughts vanish. Every thrust sent me spiraling. Every word he whispered "Look at me, Leah… that's it… take me…" pushed me closer to the edge.
By the time I shattered around him, I was half delirious, gasping his name like a prayer I didn't believe in until now.
And afterward, when he collapsed beside me, breathing hard, he didn't pull away.
He pulled me into him.
His arms around my waist.
His face buried in my neck.
His body still warm against mine.
Not casual.
Not distant.
Not rule-abiding.
Intimate.
Too intimate.
The second session was worse.
I told myself I wouldn't let him touch me like that again softly, slowly, like he cared.
Then he showed up at my door wearing a smirk and a black T-shirt that made his arms look illegal.
"Am I staying the night?" he asked casually.
"No," I said.
He stepped forward, brushing his knuckles down my neck. "I think I am."
And just like that, my clothes were gone, my sanity was gone, and he had me on the kitchen counter, gripping my hips while I grabbed fistfuls of his hair and moaned like I'd never had sex before in my life.
Afterwards, he kissed my shoulder.
Then my collarbone.
Then my jaw.
Not casual.
Not emotionless.
Addictive.
I hated it.
I loved it.
I needed more.
The third session destroyed me.
Because this time, he didn't rush.
He didn't tease.
He didn't act smug or cocky.
He was quiet.
Focused.
Almost reverent.
He undressed me slowly, watching every reaction, memorizing every shiver.
When he touched me, it wasn't lust-driven frenzy no, it was patient, deliberate, gentle.
"Relax," he whispered. "Let me take care of you."
The problem was… I did relax.
I let him take care of me.
I trusted him completely, stupidly.
At one point, he intertwined our fingers.
Our hands stayed locked together the whole time, like some kind of intimate promise we never agreed to make.
When I climaxed, I sobbed his name.
Actually sobbed.
And he held me through it, pressing kisses to my forehead, whispering things I wasn't supposed to hear.
"You're beautiful like this."
"I could watch you fall apart forever."
"Leah… God… you kill me."
This wasn't casual.
This wasn't physical.
This wasn't two people using each other.
This was dangerous.
And the worst part?
After it was over, he didn't move away.
He stayed on top of me, breathing against my throat, our bodies still tangled.
Then he said it softly, almost like a confession he didn't mean to say aloud:
"Tell me you want more."
My heart stopped.
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because if I spoke…
If I admitted the truth…
I knew I wouldn't survive this.
He lifted his head, eyes searching mine. "Leah?"
I forced myself to sit up. "We shouldn't Edward, the rules"
He laughed under his breath, bitterly.
"You still think we have rules?"
"We do," I insisted. "We have to."
His jaw tightened.
"Then why," he murmured, stepping close again, "do you let me touch you like I'm the only man you've ever wanted?"
I stopped breathing.
Because he was right.
Because every time he touched me, I felt owned.
Claimed.
Chosen.
Marked.
I pushed him away, voice barely steady. "We said no complications."
He stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes dark with something I wasn't ready to name.
"You're the complication," he said quietly. "And I'm not sure I want to fix it."
Then he walked out, leaving me shaking.
Addiction.
Pure, merciless addiction.
That's what these sessions were.
They weren't ruining my sanity.
They were replacing it.
And God help me…
I wanted the next one already.