The key turned in the lock and I didn't move. I stayed exactly where I was, at the counter, my back to the door, the muddler in my hand grinding sugar into the bottom of the glass. The red dress was short — shorter than anything I'd ever worn, shorter than anything I'd ever *owned* — and the lipstick was fresh, the same shade Maya had picked out for me, and I could feel the weight of my hair against my bare shoulders.

"Allie?"

His voice, low and warm. I heard the door close, the thud of his bag hitting the floor. I didn't turn around.

"Hey." I let the word curl over my shoulder, just enough to show him the line of my jaw, the hint of a smile. "Rough day?"

I went back to the muddling, the wooden pestle grinding the sugar into the orange peel, and I let my hips sway with the motion. Just a little. Just enough. The dress was silk, the color of the inside of a pomegranate, and it moved with me like it had been poured on.

I felt his eyes on me. Hot and heavy, a physical weight against the bare skin of my back. I let the silence stretch, let him stand there in the doorway and take me in — the curve of my ass under the silk, the dip of my waist, the way my hair fell in a dark curtain past my shoulder blades.

"That's not an answer," I said, and I finally turned, the glass in my hand, the bourbon already measured out, the bitters waiting on the counter. "Come here. I made you something."

I poured the bourbon, slow, watching the amber rise. I could feel him moving closer, feel the heat of him before I saw him, and when I bent over the counter to grab the bitters from the low shelf, I let the hem ride up. I let him see the curve of my ass, the thin strap of the thong I'd bought that afternoon, the pale skin of my thighs.

I straightened slowly, the bitters bottle in my hand, and I turned to find him right there. His jaw was tight. His hands were in his pockets, and I could see the strain in his shoulders, the way he was holding himself still.

I dropped two dashes of bitters into the glass, gave it a lazy stir, and held it out to him. My fingers brushed his when he took it, and I didn't pull away. I let the touch linger, let him feel how warm my skin was, and then I picked up my own glass — white wine, cold and crisp — and I walked past him to the couch.

I could feel him watching me go. Every step, the sway of my hips, the click of my heels on the floor. I sat down and crossed my legs, the dress riding up to mid-thigh, and I took a sip of my wine like I didn't have a care in the world.

He followed me. Sat down close, so close his thigh pressed against mine, the heat of him bleeding through the silk. I leaned into him, let my shoulder rest against his, and I turned to look at him — really look at him — and I asked, "How was your day?" like I didn't know exactly what I was doing.

He took a long drink of the Old Fashioned. Set the glass down on the table. And then his hand was on my face, turning me to him, and he kissed me.

Hard.

His mouth was on mine, his hand sliding into my hair, and I made a sound against his lips — a soft, surprised little sound that I didn't have to fake. His other hand found my thigh, sliding up under the hem of the dress, and I was already wet. I'd been wet since I heard the key in the lock.

"Mac," I breathed, and he kissed me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine, and I could taste the bourbon on him, sweet and smoky.

His hand moved higher. His fingers found the edge of my thong, and I gasped against his mouth, my hips already tilting into his hand, hungry for more.

"You bought this today," he said, his voice rough, his fingers tracing the thin line of the fabric. "You wore it for me."

"Maybe." I was breathless. "Do you like it?"

He answered by pulling the fabric aside. His fingers found me, slick and swollen, and I cried out, my head falling back, my hands gripping his shoulders.

"Jesus, Allie." His voice was dark, full of want. "You're soaked."

"I know." I could barely get the words out. "I've been thinking about you all day."

His fingers slid inside me, two of them, and I moaned, my hips rocking against his hand. He was watching me, his brown eyes dark and hungry, and I could feel the heat building in my belly, the ache between my legs, the need — the need to have him inside me, to feel him fill me, to feel him come apart inside me.

"Mac." I pulled at his shirt, desperate. "I want you. Now. I need—"

"What do you need?" He was teasing me, his fingers curling inside me, his thumb pressing against my clit, and I was losing my mind.

"You." I was begging. I didn't care. "I need you inside me. Please."

He pulled his hand out of my panties and I whimpered at the loss, but then he was unzipping his jeans, and I saw the outline of his cock straining against his boxers, and I couldn't look away.

"Come here," he said, and I didn't need to be told twice.

I swung my leg over him, straddling him on the couch, the red dress riding up around my hips. I could feel him through his boxers, hard and hot against the heat of me, and I ground down against him, slow, deliberate, letting him feel exactly what he did to me.

"Fuck," he breathed, his hands gripping my hips. "Allie."

I reached down and pulled his cock out. He was thick, heavy in my hand, the head slick with pre-cum, and I stroked him slow, watching his face, watching the way his jaw went tight, the way his eyes went dark.

"I want you to fuck me," I said, and I wasn't teasing anymore. "I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fill me up."

He groaned, his hands tightening on my hips, and I shifted, positioning myself over him, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I was so wet I could feel it dripping down my thigh, and I wanted him so badly I could barely breathe.

I sank down onto him.

Slow. Inch by inch. I felt myself stretching around him, felt the thick heat of him filling me, and I cried out, my head falling back, my hands braced on his chest. He was so deep inside me I could feel him in my throat.

"God, Allie." His voice was wrecked. "You feel incredible."

I started to move. Slow at first, rocking my hips, grinding down against him, feeling every inch of him sliding inside me. His hands were on my waist, guiding me, and I could feel the heat building between us, the slick sound of our bodies moving together.

"Look at me," he said, and I did. I looked into his brown eyes, dark with want, and I saw the love there, the hunger, the need. "You're so beautiful."

I kissed him. Deep and slow, my tongue sliding against his, my hips still rocking, riding him. I could feel myself getting close, the pressure building low in my belly, and I wanted to make it last. I wanted to feel him come inside me, wanted to feel his cock pulsing as he filled me up.

"Mac," I breathed against his lips. "I'm close."

"Me too." His hands were on my ass, gripping me, guiding my rhythm. "Ride me, Allie. Fuck, you feel so good."

I moved faster. Harder. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, and I could feel the sweat on my skin, the heat of him inside me, the ache of my thighs as I rode him.

"I want you to come inside me," I gasped. "I want to feel it."

He groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet mine, and I felt myself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building and building until I couldn't hold it anymore.

"Mac—"

"Come for me, Allie." His voice was a command. "Let go."

And I did. I came apart on top of him, my body shuddering, my cunt clenching around his cock, and I felt him follow me, felt his hips buck as he spilled inside me, hot and thick, filling me up.

I collapsed against him, my forehead against his, both of us breathing hard. I could feel him still inside me, softening, and I could feel the wetness between my thighs, the evidence of what we'd done.

"I love you," I whispered, and I meant it.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, and he kissed my forehead, soft and sweet, a counterpoint to the raw, desperate sex we'd just had.

"I love you too," he said. "I'm never letting you go."

I stayed there, wrapped in his arms, his cock still inside me, and I felt the hunger stir again. The virus, the constant low pulse of need that never quite went away. I could feel it building, the ache between my legs, the desire to do it all over again.

I shifted, grinding down against him, and I felt him harden inside me again.

"Allie," he said, his voice rough. "Again?"

"Again," I said, and I kissed him, slow and deep, and I started to move.

His hands found my hips, gripping me like he was afraid I'd disappear, and I rode him with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made every inch of him drag against the walls of my cunt. The dress had bunched up around my waist, the silk pooling against our thighs, and I could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric. I was still sensitive from the first time, still aching, and every movement sent a fresh wave of pleasure through me.

"You're going to kill me," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his throat exposed. I leaned down and pressed my lips to it, tasting the salt of his skin, and I sucked hard enough to leave a mark.

"Good," I whispered against his neck. "Then I'll have you all to myself."

He laughed, a low, wrecked sound, and his hands tightened on my waist, guiding me faster. I rode him harder, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room again, and I could feel the sweat on my skin, the way my hair stuck to my shoulders, the ache in my thighs that I didn't want to stop.

"Look at me," he said, and I did. His eyes were dark, hungry, and I could see the love there, the need, the way he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. "I want to watch you come."

I wanted to make it last. I wanted to feel every second of it, the slow burn, the building pressure, the way he felt inside me. But the hunger was too strong, the need too deep, and I could feel myself getting close again, the pleasure coiling tight in my belly.

"Mac," I breathed, my voice breaking. "I'm—"

"I know," he said. "Come for me, Allie. Let go."

And I did. I came with a cry, my body shuddering around him, my cunt clenching and releasing in waves, and I felt him follow me, felt his hips buck as he spilled inside me again, hot and thick, filling me up. I collapsed against him, my forehead against his, both of us breathing hard, and I could feel his heart pounding against my chest.

His heartbeat slowed under my ear, the thud of it going from a drumroll to something steadier, something I could count. I stayed there, my cheek against his chest, the silk of my dress stuck to my skin with sweat, and I could feel him softening inside me, the last twitch of him still deep in my cunt. Neither of us moved. The room was quiet except for our breathing, the hum of the fridge from the kitchen, the distant sound of traffic on the street below.

"That was..." He trailed off, his hand stroking slow circles on my bare back. "I don't even have words."

I laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "You don't need words." I shifted, just a little, and felt him shudder inside me. "Your body's been pretty loud all evening."

He laughed too, the vibration of it rolling through his chest against my cheek. "Yeah, well. You're not exactly subtle either." His hand slid down, cupping my ass, pulling me closer even though there was nowhere left to go. "That dress. The heels. The way you bent over the counter—" He shook his head. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

"Maybe." I lifted my head to look at him, my hair falling in a dark curtain around our faces. "Did it work?"

"Allie." He said my name like it was the only word he knew. "You could wear a garbage bag and I'd still want to fuck you. But that dress—" His eyes went dark, hungry again. "That dress is going to live in my head for the rest of my life."

I kissed him, soft and slow, tasting the bourbon still on his tongue, and I felt him harden inside me again. The hunger stirred, that constant low pulse that never quite went away, and I rocked my hips against him, feeling him thicken, feeling the ache between my legs start to build again.

"Again?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Again," I said, and I meant it.

I lifted myself off him, the slick sound of us separating almost obscene in the quiet room, and I felt his cock slip free of me, wet and warm against my thigh. The loss was immediate, a hollow ache that made me whimper before I could stop it. His hands came up to steady my hips, his fingers pressing into the silk of the dress, and I could feel him watching me, could feel the weight of his gaze on my bare back.

"Where are you going?" His voice was rough, strained.

"Turn around," I said, and I didn't wait for his answer.

I swung my leg over him, turning my back to him, and I felt his hands on my ass before I'd even settled, gripping the silk, pulling me close. The dress was bunched around my waist, the fabric damp with sweat and the evidence of what we'd already done, and I could feel the heat of his chest against my spine, the hard planes of his body pressing against me.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice low and dark. "Allie. Look at you."

I reached back and found his cock, thick and slick with my own wetness, and I guided it to my entrance, feeling the head press against me, teasing. I was so sensitive from the last two times, so raw and aching, and I could feel myself clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled again.

"You want this?" I asked, and I didn't wait for him to answer. I sank down onto him, slow, inch by inch, and I felt myself stretch around him, felt the thick heat of him filling me from behind, hitting deeper than before, and I cried out, my head falling back against his shoulder.

"God." His voice was wrecked. "You feel even better like this."

His hands were on my hips, gripping me, guiding me, and I started to move. Slow at first, rocking back against him, feeling every inch of him sliding inside me, the angle different, deeper, the head of his cock pressing against a spot that made my vision blur. I braced my hands on his thighs, feeling the muscle there, the heat of his skin under my palms, and I rode him with a lazy, deliberate rhythm that made him groan with every movement.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick with want. "Riding me like you were made for it."

I looked back over my shoulder at him, my hair falling in a dark curtain around my face, and I saw his eyes on me — dark, hungry, fixed on the place where we were joined, where his cock disappeared inside me. The sight of it, the way he was watching me, made me clench around him, and he groaned, his hands tightening on my hips.

"You like watching?" I asked, my voice breathless.

"Fuck yes." His voice was raw. "I could watch you ride me forever."

His hands slid from my hips down over the curve of my ass, fingers digging into the silk, gripping me like he was afraid I'd disappear. I rocked back against him, slow and deliberate, feeling the head of his cock press against that spot deep inside me, the one that made my toes curl against the couch cushions.

"Christ, Allie." His voice was barely a groan. "The view from here is fucking unreal."

I knew what he was seeing — my back arched, the dress bunched around my waist, my ass bouncing against his thighs with every roll of my hips. The mirror on the far wall caught us both, and I watched him watch me, his head thrown back against the couch, his hands full of my flesh, his eyes half-lidded and dark with want.

"Yeah?" I pushed back harder, taking him deeper, and I felt his fingers tighten on my ass. "You like seeing yourself inside me?"

"Fuck, yes." He thrust up to meet me, and the angle shifted, his cock hitting that spot dead-on, and my vision went white at the edges. "I like seeing my cock disappear into this perfect fucking pussy."

The words hit me like a physical thing, heat flooding through my belly, and I moaned, my head falling forward, my hair spilling over my shoulders. I braced my hands on his knees, feeling the muscle there, the heat of his skin, and I rode him harder, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room.

"Look at you," he said, his voice thick. "Taking all of me. Every fucking inch."

I looked back over my shoulder at him, and I saw the sweat on his chest, the way his abs flexed with every thrust, the way his eyes were fixed on the place where we were joined. He reached forward and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head back, and I gasped at the sting of it, the pleasure-pain shooting through me.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "You like being watched while you fuck yourself on my cock?"

"Yes," I breathed, and I meant it. The hunger was a living thing inside me, coiling and twisting, demanding more, and I gave in to it, riding him harder, faster, chasing the edge that was already building in my belly.

His hand left my hair and slid around my waist, pulling me back against him, and I felt his chest against my spine, his breath hot on my neck. He thrust up into me, deep and slow, and I felt every inch of him, the thick heat of him stretching me, filling me, and I cried out, my head falling back against his shoulder.

"I'm close," I gasped, the words torn from me. "Mac, I'm so close."

"Not yet," he said, and his hand slid down my belly, fingers finding my clit, slick and swollen and aching. "I want to feel you come apart on me."

His fingers circled me, slow and deliberate, and I shuddered, my hips bucking against his hand, against his cock, caught between the two sensations, drowning in them. The pressure built, coiling tight in my belly, and I could feel myself getting closer, the edge so close I could almost taste it.

"Please," I begged, my voice breaking. "Please, Mac, I need—"

"I know what you need." His voice was dark, possessive. "You need to come on my cock. You need to feel me fill you up again."

His fingers kept circling me, relentless, and I felt the edge cresting, that bright wire drawn tight through my belly. But I didn't want to come like this — pinned against his chest, his hand doing all the work. I wanted to show him. I wanted him to watch.

"Stop," I gasped, and my hand closed over his wrist, stilling his fingers. "I want to — I want you to see me."

His hand fell away, and I heard the question in his silence. I planted my palms on his thighs and lifted myself off his cock, the slow drag of him leaving me making me whimper at the emptiness. The air hit my wet skin, cool and sharp, and I felt myself clench around nothing, aching for him.

"Turn around," he said, his voice rough with understanding. "Come here. Face the mirror."

But I was already moving. I swung my leg over him, turning my back to his chest, and I felt his hands find my hips, gripping the silk, steadying me. The dress was bunched around my waist, damp and ruined, and I could feel his cock against my ass, thick and hot and slick with me.

"Fuck," he breathed, and I felt his palms slide up my spine, pushing the dress higher, baring me to him. "Look at you. Look at this fucking view."

I reached back between my legs and found him, wrapped my fingers around the thick heat of his cock, and guided him to my entrance. The head pressed against me, slick and teasing, and I held there, feeling myself clench around nothing, desperate to be filled.

"You want this?" I asked, and I didn't wait for his answer. I sank down onto him, slow, inch by inch, and I felt myself stretch around him, the thick heat of him filling me from behind, hitting deeper than before. I cried out, my head falling back against his shoulder.

His fingers worked me faster, circling my clit with a pressure that bordered on too much, and I felt myself tipping over the edge. The orgasm crashed through me, my cunt clenching around his cock in wave after wave, and I cried out his name, my head thrown back against his shoulder.

"That's it," he groaned, his hips thrusting up into me, driving deeper as I clenched around him. "Fuck, Allie. Squeeze me just like that."

I couldn't speak. The pleasure was a white heat behind my eyes, my body no longer mine, just a vessel for the waves. I felt him swell inside me, thick and hot, and then he was coming, his cock pulsing deep inside me, filling me with a warmth that made me moan, broken and raw.

He held me there, both of us shaking, his forehead pressed to my shoulder, his breath ragged against my skin. I felt his cum leaking out of me, slick and wet against my thighs, and I didn't want to move, didn't want to lose the feeling of him inside me.

"I love you," he said, his voice barely a whisper, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me close. "I love you so fucking much."

I turned my head, finding his mouth with mine, kissing him slow and deep, tasting myself on his lips. The hunger was quiet now, a satisfied hum in my blood, and I felt his hands on my hips, gentle, grounding me in the wreckage of the couch.

"I love you too," I said, the words soft against his mouth. And I meant it.

His arms tightened around me, and I felt the last of the trembling leave his body, his breath slowing against my shoulder. I stayed there, sitting on his lap, his cock softening inside me, the warmth of him still filling me, and I didn't want to move. The dress was ruined, bunched around my waist, damp with sweat and the evidence of everything we'd done, and I didn't care. I could feel his heartbeat against my spine, slow and steady now, matching mine.

"We should probably shower," he said, his voice rough, sleep-soft. "Eventually."

"Eventually," I agreed, and I felt his lips press against the back of my neck, soft, lingering. "In a minute."

"In a minute," he echoed, and his hands slid up my sides, over the silk, settling on my waist. "You know, I never actually got to see the whole dress."

I laughed, the sound surprising me, light and easy. "You've seen plenty of it."

"The back," he said, and I felt his fingers trace the edge of the fabric where it bunched at my waist. "I want to see the back. The way it fits you."

I turned my head, looking at him over my shoulder, and I saw the tired smile on his face, the dark smudges under his eyes. "You want me to get up?"

"I want you to know I'm going to look at you in this dress for a long time," he said, and his voice was soft, earnest. "Like, a really long time. Before you take it off."

"It's already half off," I pointed out.

"The good half's still on," he said, and his fingers traced the strap at my shoulder, the one that had somehow stayed in place through everything. "That's the half I want to see."

I felt something warm bloom in my chest, something that had nothing to do with the hunger. I shifted, lifting myself off him slowly, feeling him slip free of me with a wet, reluctant sound, and I heard him hiss at the loss. I turned, straddling his thighs, facing him, and I saw the way his eyes moved over me — the dress hanging off one shoulder, the fabric clinging to the curves of my body, the evidence of what we'd done still slick on my thighs.

"Jesus," he breathed. "Allie."

"What?" I asked, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks under his gaze.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, and his voice was so sincere it made my chest ache. "And I get to look at you. Every day. That's — I don't even know what I did to deserve that."

I reached out, my fingers finding his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there. "You dragged me to a party," I said, and the smile that spread across his face was so wide it crinkled his eyes. "Best decision you ever made."

"Best decision I ever made," he agreed, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Though I'm pretty sure you were the one who made the first move."

"I followed a hot girl into a bathroom," I said, and I felt the strange, complicated shape of that memory — the version of me who'd done that, who'd been so naive, so trusting. "She was the one who—" I stopped, the words catching in my throat.

His hands found my waist, warm and steady. "Hey," he said, soft. "You don't have to—"

"No, I know." I shook my head, the hair falling around my face. "I just — sometimes I think about who I was before. And I don't miss him. I don't. But I also don't know how to be the person I am now, except with you."

"You don't have to know," he said, and his thumb traced a slow circle on my hip. "You just have to be here. With me. That's enough."

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his, and I felt his breath warm on my lips. "I love you," I said, the words easy, true. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," he said, and his hands slid up my back, pulling me into him, and I let myself be held. The hunger was quiet, a low ember in my belly, and I knew it would rise again — it always did. But for now, there was just this. Just him. Just the wreckage of the couch and the ruined dress and the warmth of his arms around me, and I felt, for the first time since I'd woken up in this body, that I might actually be okay.

I stayed there with my cheek against his chest, counting the beats of his heart like they were something I could keep. The silk of the dress was damp against my skin, the evidence of what we'd done cooling on my thighs, and I could smell us on each other — sweat and sex and the faint sweetness of the bourbon still on his breath. His hand moved slow circles on my bare back, tracing the line of my spine through the ruined fabric, and I felt the last of the trembling leave my body.

"Mac." I said his name into the warmth of his chest, and he hummed in response, his fingers never stopping their lazy path. "I need to tell you something."

His hand stilled for a beat, then resumed. "Yeah?"

I lifted my head, looking at him properly, and I saw the tenderness in his brown eyes, the way they softened when they met mine. The hunger was quiet inside me, but I could feel it there, coiled and waiting, and I knew — I knew it would never be fully gone. It would rise again in an hour, in a day, in the middle of the night when I'd wake up aching for him. And I was terrified that one day it would rise and he wouldn't be there to catch me.

"I'm scared," I said, and the words felt like glass in my throat. "Not of you. Not of us. Of — this." I gestured vaguely at myself, at the body I was still learning to live in. "The hunger. It doesn't go away. Dr. Hart said it's part of the virus, even for the lucky ones. And I just — I don't want to lose myself to it. I don't want to wake up one day and not be me anymore."

His hands came up to cup my face, thumbs brushing the corners of my mouth, and he looked at me with such fierce tenderness that it made my chest ache.

"You're not going to lose yourself," he said, and his voice was steady, certain. "You're the strongest person I know, Allie. You survived something that would have broken anyone else. You're still here. You're still you."

"But what if I'm not?" I heard my own voice crack. "What if the hunger gets louder and I can't fight it? What if I become someone you don't recognize?"

He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me so tight I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek, and I felt the warmth of his breath in my hair.

"Then I'll be right here," he said. "I'll hold you through it. I'll remind you who you are every single day if I have to."

I felt tears prick at my eyes, and I blinked them back, embarrassed by the sudden rush of feeling. "That's a lot of work."

"You're worth it." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're worth every second."

I pulled back, looking at him, and I felt something shift in my chest — a decision taking shape, solid and real. I had been holding onto the last shred of who I used to be, the boy who followed a hot girl into a bathroom and got his whole life stolen. But that boy was gone. He wasn't coming back. And what I had now — this body, this hunger, this man who loved me anyway — this was my life. I had to choose it.

"Mac." I said his name like it was the only anchor I had. "I want you to keep me."

His brow furrowed, a question forming on his lips, but I shook my head, reaching up to press my fingers against his mouth.

"I mean it," I said. "I want you to keep me. Not just — not just as your girlfriend, not just as someone you love. I want you to hold onto me when I can't hold onto myself. I want you to be the thing that keeps me here, in my own head, even when the hunger gets loud. I want you to promise me that you won't let me go."

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, and I could see the weight of what I was asking settling on him. It wasn't a small thing. It wasn't a casual promise. I was asking him to be my anchor, my tether, the thing that kept me human when the virus tried to take the rest of me.

"Allie." His voice was rough, thick with emotion. "I already promised you I'd never let you go. I meant it."

"I know you meant it," I said. "But I need you to understand what you're promising. I need you to know that it's not always going to be easy. Sometimes I'm going to be a mess. Sometimes the hunger is going to make me do things I don't want to do, or feel things I don't want to feel. And I need to know that you're not going to bail when it gets hard."

His hands found my face again, thumbs stroking my cheekbones, and he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I've been waiting for you my whole life, Allie. I didn't even know it until I saw you walk out of that bathroom with your hair a mess and your eyes wide, looking like you'd just seen a ghost. And I knew — I knew right then that I would do anything to keep you safe. To keep you here. With me."

I felt the tears spill over, hot and unexpected, and I laughed at myself, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. "Fuck. I'm crying. I don't even cry."

"You're allowed to cry," he said, and he pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me like he could shield me from the whole world. "You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to be a mess. That's part of being human."

"I'm not even sure I'm human anymore," I whispered into his skin.

"You're more human than anyone I know," he said. "You feel everything so deeply. You care so much. That's not the virus, Allie. That's you. That's the part of you that nothing can touch."

I held onto him, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and I let myself believe it. For a moment, just a moment, I let myself believe that I could be okay. That I could be loved. That I could be kept.

"Promise me," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. "Promise me you'll keep me. No matter what."

His hand came up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head.

"I promise," he said, and his voice was steady, sure. "I promise you, Allie. I will keep you. Through the hunger, through the fear, through every single thing that tries to take you from me. I will keep you."

I felt something loosen in my chest, a knot I hadn't even known was there, and I let out a breath I'd been holding for days. Weeks. Since the moment I woke up in this body and looked in the mirror and saw a stranger looking back.

"I love you," I said, and the words felt like a prayer. "I love you so much it scares me."

"I love you too," he said. "And I'm not scared. I'm the opposite of scared. I'm — I'm home."

I turned my face up to his, and he kissed me, soft and slow, his lips moving against mine like he had all the time in the world. The hunger stirred in my belly, a low pulse of want, but it was different now — quieter, gentler, like it was part of the warmth instead of something separate and demanding. I kissed him back, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt, and I let myself sink into the moment.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing a little harder, I looked at him and saw the same thing I always saw — love, steady and unwavering, looking back at me like I was the answer to a question he hadn't known he was asking.

"Okay," I said, and I felt a smile spread across my face, real and unguarded. "Okay. I'm yours."

His answering smile was so wide it crinkled his eyes, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. "You've been mine since the day I dragged you to that party," he said. "You just didn't know it yet."

I laughed, the sound bright and surprised, and I felt something settle in my chest — a warmth that had nothing to do with the virus, nothing to do with the hunger. It was just him. Just us. Just the promise we'd made to each other in the wreckage of the couch, with the ruined dress and the cooling sweat and the weight of everything we'd been through resting between us.

"I'm glad you dragged me," I said, and I meant it. "I'm glad it was you."

His arms tightened around me, and he pressed his face into my hair, breathing me in. "Me too," he said. "Every single day."

We stayed there for a long time, wrapped in each other, the quiet of the apartment settling around us like a blanket. The hunger was still there, a low ember in my belly, but it was patient now, waiting. And I knew it would rise again — it always did. But I wasn't afraid of it anymore. Not the same way. Because I had something the virus couldn't touch. I had him.

I had him.

"Allie," he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "Can I ask you something?"

I lifted my head, looking at him. "Anything."

"What you said — about wanting me to keep you." He paused, his thumb tracing a slow circle on my hip. "Did you mean it? Like, really mean it?"

"I meant every word," I said. "I want you to keep me, Mac. I want you to be the one who holds me together when I feel like I'm falling apart. I want you to be my home."

His eyes went soft, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I can do that," he said. "I can be that. I want to be that."

I kissed him again, soft and slow, and I felt the hunger stir, a gentle pulse of want that felt like coming home. When I pulled back, I looked at him and smiled.

"Then I'm yours," I said. "All of me. The parts that are easy and the parts that are hard. The parts I understand and the parts I'm still figuring out. All of it."

"All of it," he echoed, and he kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. "I'll take all of it."

His lips found mine again, and this time there was nothing soft or slow about it. The hunger that had been dozing in my belly surged awake, a hot pulse that spread through my limbs like a tide, and I felt his hands slide down my back, gripping the torn silk of the dress like he was afraid I might disappear.

"Mac," I breathed against his mouth, and the word came out broken, needy. "I need you to fuck me. Right now. I need you to—"

He didn't let me finish. His hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back, and he kissed me hard, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he was claiming something. I moaned into him, my hips rocking against his, and I felt the ache between my thighs sharpen into something desperate, something that demanded to be answered.

"You have me," he said, pulling back just enough to look at me, his brown eyes dark and blown wide. "You have all of me, Allie. Every single time you need it, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

I reached down and found the waistband of his jeans, fumbling with the button. My fingers were shaking, clumsy with want, and he laughed low in his throat, covering my hand with his own and guiding me through it. The button came free, the zipper rasped down, and I pushed my hand inside his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his cock — already hard, already slick at the tip.

"Fuck," I whispered, and I meant it as a prayer.

He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. I stroked him slowly, learning the weight of him in my hand, the heat of him, the way his breath hitched when I dragged my thumb over the head. The hunger in my belly purred, satisfied and hungry at once, and I felt the slick heat between my thighs grow until I could feel it soaking through the ruined fabric of the dress.

"I want you inside me," I said, and my voice was raw, unashamed. "I want to feel you. I want to feel you so deep I can't remember where I end and you begin."

He sat up, his hands finding the hem of the dress, and he pulled it up over my head in one smooth motion, leaving me naked except for the scrap of lace I'd bought at the mall. His eyes raked over me, hot and hungry, and he made a sound low in his chest that made my skin prickle with goosebumps.

"God, you're beautiful," he said, and his voice was rough, almost reverent. "Every time I see you, I can't believe you're real."

I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, letting it fall away, and his breath caught as my breasts spilled free. He reached out, his palms cupping them, his thumbs circling my nipples until they were tight, aching peaks. I gasped, my hips bucking against nothing, and he leaned down and took one in his mouth, his tongue hot and wet against the sensitive skin.

"Mac," I gasped, my fingers burying in his curls, holding him there. "Please. I need—"

He pulled back, his lips slick, and he looked up at me with those dark, hungry eyes. "I know what you need."

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, and I lifted my hips to help him, the fabric sliding away and leaving me bare and aching. He spread my thighs with his hands, his gaze dropping between them, and I saw the hunger in his face, the raw, animal want that mirrored my own.

"You're so wet," he said, and his voice was thick. "So fucking wet for me."

"Only for you," I said, and I meant it. "I'm only ever wet for you, Mac."

He leaned down and kissed the inside of my thigh, his lips trailing higher, closer to the aching heat between my legs. I felt his breath against my skin, hot and teasing, and I whimpered, my hands gripping the edge of the couch.

"Please," I begged. "Please, Mac. I need you."

He looked up at me, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips, and I saw the devil in his smile. "Beg for it."

"I am begging," I said, and my voice cracked. "I'm begging you, Mac. Please. Please eat my pussy. I need your mouth on me. I need to feel you—"

He lowered his mouth to me like a man who'd been starving for days, and the first drag of his tongue against my clit sent a shock through my whole body, a jolt that made my spine bow off the couch. He groaned against me, the vibration of it traveling straight through my cunt, and I felt the sound of it in my teeth. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, and he ate me like I was the last meal he'd ever get — no hesitation, no teasing, just raw, hungry devotion.

"Oh, fuck," I gasped, my head falling back, my fingers twisting in his curls. "Mac — right there, don't stop, please don't stop—"

He didn't stop. He lapped at me with long, broad strokes of his tongue, from the bottom of my slit to the top, and then he sealed his lips around my clit and sucked, gentle at first, then harder, until I was crying out, my hips grinding against his face. He worked me like he knew my body better than I did, like he'd been studying it in his sleep, and I felt the pressure building in my belly, a coil of heat that tightened with every stroke of his tongue.

"You taste like heaven," he said, his voice rough, barely a growl, and he dove back in, his tongue pushing inside me, curling, tasting. I moaned, loud and shameless, the sound bouncing off the walls of the apartment, and I didn't care who heard. I didn't care about anything except the feel of his mouth on me, the way he was pulling me apart with his tongue and putting me back together with every gasp.

He slid two fingers inside me, slow, deliberate, and I felt the stretch, the fullness, the way he crooked them just so, pressing against that spot that made my vision go white at the edges. I cried out his name, my hips bucking against his hand, and he hummed against my clit, the vibration of it sending me spiraling.

"Come for me," he said, his voice thick, his fingers curling inside me. "Come on my tongue, Allie. I want to taste it."

The command hit me like a match to gasoline, and I shattered. My body arched off the couch, my thighs clamping around his head, and I came with a cry that was half his name, half a sob, the orgasm ripping through me in wave after wave. He didn't pull away. He drank me down, his tongue lapping at me through every spasm, until I was shaking, boneless, gasping for air.

He crawled up my body, his mouth slick with me, and kissed me, and I tasted myself on his lips, salty and sweet and utterly filthy. I moaned into his mouth, my hands sliding down his back, gripping his ass through his jeans.

"I need you inside me," I said, the words tumbling out between kisses. "Now. Please. I can't wait anymore."

He pulled back, his eyes dark, his pupils blown wide, and he reached down, unbuckling his belt with shaking fingers. The sound of the metal clinking was loud in the quiet room, and I watched him shove his jeans down, his boxers following, and his cock sprang free — thick, hard, leaking at the tip. I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around him, stroking him slowly, and he groaned, his head falling back.

"Fuck, Allie," he breathed. "You're going to kill me."

I guided him to my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me, and I looked up at him, my eyes locked on his.

"Then come inside me," I said, and I pulled him forward.

He pushed into me in one slow, smooth thrust, and I felt myself stretch around him, the fullness of him stealing my breath. He held still for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged, and I felt him pulsing inside me, the heat of him filling me completely.

"God," he whispered. "You feel — you feel like home."

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his hips beginning to move. Slow at first, a gentle rocking that built the heat in my belly all over again, and then faster, harder, his thrusts driving me up the couch. I clung to him, my nails raking his back, my mouth finding his, swallowing his moans.

"Don't stop," I gasped against his lips. "Don't you dare stop."

He didn't. He fucked me like he was trying to prove something, like every thrust was a promise, and I took it, every inch, every stroke. The hunger in my belly roared, not the virus hunger but something deeper, something that was all mine — the need for him, the need to be filled, the need to be his.

"I'm close," he said, his voice strained, his rhythm faltering. "Allie — I'm gonna—"

"Inside me," I said, my voice a command. "Come inside me. I want to feel it."

He drove into me one last time, buried to the hilt, and I felt him come, hot and thick, flooding me. I cried out, my own orgasm crashing over me at the feel of it, my cunt clenching around him, milking him, and he groaned my name, his body shuddering against mine.

We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing each other's air, the heat of our bodies cooling in the quiet of the apartment. He pulled out slowly, and I felt the emptiness of it, the loss, and then he gathered me in his arms, pulling me against his chest, his hand stroking my hair.