Chapter 16: I'm Yours

Rafael's POV

She was still asleep when I woke.

The room was dark, the kind of early morning dark that hadn't decided yet whether it was night or something else. Iris was pressed against my side, her breath warm and even on my chest, her curls spread across my arm. My shoulder was numb beneath her weight.

I didn't move.

I looked at the ceiling and listened to her breathe and felt the full weight of what I'd done settle over me like something I'd been waiting years to carry.

I should have felt worse about it than I did.

I did feel guilty. That part was real, the part that knew she was twenty and Chloe's best friend and that this was going to cost things I couldn't fully calculate yet. That part was loud and clear and had been there since the moment she knocked on my study door and said I can't do this alone.

But beneath it, deeper and more insistent, was the pride of having her here, in my bed, her body still marked by me. The sheet was tangled around her hips, exposing the bruise-like flush of my fingers on her thighs, the faint red imprint of my teeth near her collarbone. My cock twitched, already half-hard again, but I ignored it.

I'd wanted her for years.

Not like this, not in the beginning, not when she was sixteen and Chloe brought her home the first time, all quiet composure and green eyes that caught everything. That had been something I'd looked at once and deliberately looked away from and kept looking away from for years because I'd known exactly what it was and exactly what it couldn't be.

But she'd kept coming back. She'd grown into herself in this house, at this table, in the pool and the kitchen and the quiet Sunday mornings, and every year it had gotten harder to look away and every year I'd managed it anyway.

Until she knocked on my door.

She stirred, a small sound escaping her, something between a whimper and a sigh. Her body tensed for a second, like she was bracing for something, then relaxed when she realized where she was. When she realized who she was pressed against. I felt the exact moment her mind caught up with her instincts, the way her breath hitched, her fingers curling slightly against my skin. She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t melt into me, either, not yet.

“You’re thinking too hard,” I murmured, my voice rough. My free hand found her hip beneath the sheet, my thumb tracing idle circles over the dip of her waist. She shivered.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, but there was no conviction in it. Just a reflex. A habit of pushing back, even when her body was already surrendering.

“You are here.” My grip tightened just enough to make my point. “And you’re staying.”

She lifted her head, her eyes bleary but sharpening as she blinked up at me. The gold flecks in them were darker now, the heat still simmering beneath her skin. “You can’t just...”

“I can.” I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will.”

Her jaw set, but before she could retort, her body betrayed her, a soft, involuntary roll of her hips, seeking friction. A flush crept up her neck. She hated that, hated how transparent she was when the heat was riding her. I didn’t mind. I liked seeing the cracks in her armor. Liked knowing I was the one who put them there.

“This isn’t...” She swallowed, her voice thicker now. “This isn’t right.”

I exhaled through my nose.

“No,” I agreed. “It’s not.” But my hand didn’t stop moving. My fingers slid lower, brushing the swell of her ass, feeling the way her muscles tensed and then relaxed under my touch. “But it’s happening and you’re not leaving this room until your heat breaks. So you can either fight me every step of the way, or you can let me take care of you.”

Her breath froze. “Take care of me?”

The words tasted wrong in my mouth. Too soft. Too domestic. But the way her pulse jumped under my fingers, the way her thighs pressed together just slightly, ahe liked the sound of that, liked the idea of it, even if she’d never admit it.

“Yes.” My hand slid up her spine, tangling in the mess of her dark hair, tilting her head back just enough to force her to meet my eyes. “Starting with making sure you’re not sore from last night.”

A shudder ran through her. “I’m not...”

“Iris.” Her name on my lips sounded like a claim.

She snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks flushing darker. I could smell the lie in her scent, the faint metallic tang of discomfort beneath the sweetness of her arousal. My grip on her hair tightened just a fraction, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp.

“Tell me the truth.” My voice was firm.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It aches,” she admitted finally, the words dragged out of her. “But it’s not...”

“Not what?” I asked, my thumb brushing her lower lip, silencing her.

She glared, but her body arched into my touch. “Not bad.”

I hummed, low in my throat. “Good.” Then I rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath me before she could protest. The sheet pooled around her waist, leaving her bare to my gaze. I took my time looking at her, the flush on her chest, the way her nipples were already tight, the faint sheen of sweat on her skin.

Her hands came up, pressing against my chest, but not to push me away, just to touch. To ground herself. I let her fingers curl into the hair on my chest, let her nails scrape lightly over my skin. Her touch was hesitant, like she was afraid I’d vanish if she gripped too hard.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmured, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way her breath came a little too fast.

She scoffed, but her fingers flexed against me. “You say that now.”

I caught her wrist, pressed her palm flat over my heart. “Feel that?” The steady, heavy thud of it. “That’s for you. It’s been yours for a lot longer than you realize.”

Her eyes widened. For a second, she looked young, not in age, but in the way her defenses crumbled, just for a heartbeat. Then her lashes lowered, her expression shuttering. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” I released her wrist, my hand sliding down her arm, over her shoulder, mapping the curve of her. “Because it scares you?”

“Because it’s stupid,” she snapped, but there was no heat in it. Her voice was thin. “This is just, the heat. It’s not..."

“Not what?” I asked again, cutting her off. My fingers found her nipple, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger, watching her breath catch. “Not real?”

She arched into my touch despite herself, her lips parting. “We both know what this is.”

“Do we?” I leaned down, my mouth hovering just above hers. “Because I’ve wanted you for years, Iris. Long before your heat. Long before you ever let yourself want me back.”

Her breath hitched. “You’re Chloe's father.”

“I’m yours,” I corrected, and then I kissed her.

A slow, thorough claiming, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting the sleepy sweetness of her mouth. She made a small, broken sound, her hands fisting in my hair, her body arching up into mine. I let her take what she needed for a moment, let her kiss me back with desperate, clumsy hunger, before I pulled away just enough to speak.

“Now." I said. "Let me take care of you.”