The moment Alexander caught his breath, the moment his pulse steadied, the moment he came down from the earth-shattering high she had just given him— He grabbed her.
Pulled her up. Lifted her like she weighed nothing, crushing his lips to hers in a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of himself, of her, of everything they had just done.
Gie barely had time to react before he spun her, pressing her against the cool surface of the penthouse window, the city sprawling beneath them.
"Again," he rasped, his voice thick, hoarse, ruined.
She barely had time to nod before he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt, filling her so completely she screamed.
And that was how it started.
It didn't stop. Didn't slow. Didn't ease up, not even once.
He took her against the window, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wide, her reflection catching her wrecked, flushed face.
Then he carried her to the bed, the mattress dipping beneath them as he pinned her down, her wrists above her head, taking her deep, slow, watching her fall apart beneath him.
Then the sofa, her back arching off the cushions as he pressed her down, her nails dragging across his back, his moans mixing with hers.
Then the floor, where she rode him, her hands on his chest, his lips wrapping around her nipple, his teeth grazing the chain she had designed for him.
Then the shower, where the water ran hot, their bodies slick, the steam curling around them as he took her again, and again, and again.
And each time— She screamed his name. Each time— He whispered, "Mine." Each time— They burned, drowned, crashed, shattered together.
By the time the sun started rising, by the time their bodies gave out, too exhausted to continue, they were a mess of tangled limbs and shallow breaths.
Alexander lay half on top of her, his face buried in her neck, his arm wrapped around her possessively.
Gie couldn't even think.
Couldn't breathe without feeling him everywhere.
Couldn't close her eyes without seeing him, without feeling every single moment branded into her skin.
And as her fingers ran lazily over his back, as she lay there, satisfied, sore, completely drained—
She knew.
They weren't just fucking anymore.
They were losing themselves.
And neither of them were stopping.
"What are we?" Alexander asked quietly, his breath brushing the shell of her ear.
She stilled beneath him.
Same question. Same answer.
"You know what this is," she whispered.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her. His expression didn't change, but something hardened in his eyes.
"Right," he said flatly. "Because we're just two people who happened to fuck on every surface of my penthouse. Repeatedly. All night. For hours."
She winced. "Alexander—"
"No, no, I get it," he cut in, voice laced with sarcasm now. "This is clearly casual. Very detached. Definitely how I imagined post-orgasm conversations going."
She sighed, reaching up to brush her fingers along his jaw. "We're not ready," she said quietly. "You know we're not."
He let out a sharp breath, then laughed bitterly. "You know what this feels like?" He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It feels like I just lost my virginity and the girl left before breakfast."
Her heart clenched. A guilty pang slipped through her.
"You didn't lose anything," she said, half teasing, trying to lighten the air. "You got mine too. It cancels out."
His gaze slid toward her, unreadable.
"Yeah," he said dryly. "Mutual carnage. Great."
She nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm just saying... maybe we both have no idea what we're doing."
"No," he muttered, eyes closing, arm draping across his eyes. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm letting you ruin me."
And she didn't know what to say to that.
A long silence stretched between them. The air was thick, heavy with what hadn't been said. Then she shifted a little closer.
"Can we... just cuddle?" she asked softly.
Alexander turned his head slowly, staring at her like he couldn't believe her.
"You want to cuddle," he repeated flatly.
She nodded.
"Right," he muttered, clearly frustrated. "Of course you do. Because physical comfort? That part's fine. But labels? Commitment? Clarity? Nope, not on the menu."
Still, even as the words left his mouth, he reached out and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, tucking her against his chest.
His touch was firm, but his jaw was clenched. His entire body was stiff.
"What are we really, Gie?" he asked again, his voice quieter now, but rough around the edges.
She hesitated.
"Casual," she said, barely above a whisper.
He went still.
Then, with a low, sharp laugh, he asked, "So if this is casual, does that mean I'm allowed to date other people?"
She froze.
A beat of silence passed. Then another.
She swallowed. "...Of course."
His voice darkened, almost a growl. "And you? Are you allowed to date?"
She didn't answer. Didn't move.
Then finally, "Yes."
"Fuck this shit," he muttered under his breath.
His jaw flexed. Then he asked, low and tight, "So you won't get jealous if I actually go out with someone else?"
Gie was quiet for a second. Then— "Of course I will."
His head snapped toward her. "Then what the hell is this?"
She met his stare, steady this time. "We don't owe each other anything, right? So just do it. If that's what you want."
Alexander laughed, but it wasn't amused. It was hollow. Bitter. He didn't say anything after that.
But he didn't let her go. Didn't pull away. He just held her tighter, angrier, like maybe if he wrapped himself around her tight enough, she wouldn't slip through his fingers.
She sighed contentedly against his chest, completely unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the storm inside him.
She fell asleep like that. Happy. Safe. Wrapped in his arms.
Alexander lay awake. Staring at the ceiling. Holding her like she was his. Hating that he still wanted her this much. Hating her for not choosing him. Hating himself for still staying anyway.