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“Yes,” she breathes. “God, yes.”

“Say it.”

“That I’m yours?”

“Yes.”

“I’m yours,” she gasps, voice trembling. “Completely. Forever.”

“And I am?”

“Mine,” she says, fiercer this time. “You’re mine, Freddie.”

“That’s right.”

I tighten my grip just slightly, watching the way her pupils dilate, the soft flush blooming across her chest. She’s panting now, desperate, needy, clenching around me.

I move again, deeper this time. Steady. Possessive.

Steam clings to us, the shower long forgotten. Just skin, breath, and want.

She cries out as the angle shifts and I hit that spot that unravels her.

“That’s it,” I murmur, lips brushing her mouth. “Let me hear you.”

“The men?—”

“Fuck the men. Let them know you’re mine.”

The possessiveness in my voice sends a visible shudder through her. She clenches around me like she never wants to let go.

I slow, cruelly, just enough to make her whimper.

“Say it again,” I growl.

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Freddie. Please?—”

“Good girl.”

She shatters.

It hits her like a wave, her whole body seizing with the force of it. She cries my name, legs trembling, arms locked around me like she’ll come undone if she lets go.

I follow her seconds later, coming hard, my face buried in her neck, breath ragged as I spill into her.

We don’t move.

The water cools, running in rivulets over our skin. But the warmth between us doesn’t fade.

She’s still clinging to me.

And I hold her tighter.

Like I never intend to let her go again.

"Better?" she asks.

"Much."