The willow branches swayed in the late afternoon breeze, and Hana sat on the rough wooden bench with her legs crossed, watching the gap in the leaves where Troy would appear. She'd told him to come alone. Told him not to tell Priya or Amara. Told him in that voice she knew he couldn't say no to—the one that turned her demands into honey and made him laugh even as he obeyed.
The dress was new. White cotton, thin enough that the light passed through it when she stood the wrong way, hem grazing her upper thighs. No underwear. She'd checked twice before leaving the flat, standing in front of the mirror and turning to see how the fabric pulled across her curves, how her nipples made themselves known through the material when the temperature dropped. She wanted him to see exactly what he'd been neglecting.
Her phone buzzed. She ignored it.
Another buzz. Priya, probably. Or Amara, checking in. Hana had told them she needed the afternoon to study, that the library was calling her name, that she'd see them at dinner. Lies wrapped in sweetness, delivered with her best innocent smile. They'd believed her. They always believed her when she turned the charm on.
Footsteps on the path. She didn't turn. Let him come to her.
"You know, most people text before demanding a park meeting." Troy's voice carried that lazy drawl she'd been dreaming about for a week. "Thought you'd been kidnapped."
"Maybe I wanted you to worry." She finally looked at him—sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a gray t-shirt stretched across his chest, his hair more disheveled than usual like he'd been running his hands through it on the way over. "Took you long enough."
"I came as fast as I could." He settled onto the bench beside her, close enough that she could smell the soap on his skin, the warmth of him. The branch above them filtered the sunlight into scattered gold across his face. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." She picked at a thread on her dress. "Just wanted to see if you'd actually show up."
"I'm here."
"Congratulations. You passed the test."
He watched her for a moment, that patient silence she knew too well. The one he used when he was waiting for her to crack, to spill whatever was really eating at her. She hated how well it worked on her.
"What?" She snapped, sharper than she meant to. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're trying to figure me out."
"I'm just looking at you, Hana."
"Well, don't." She crossed her arms, pressing her breasts together, and pretended to watch a couple walking their dog on the far side of the park. Her jaw was tight. Her heart was hammering in a way that made her angry at herself. This wasn't how she wanted this to go. She wanted to be cold, commanding, in control. Instead she felt like a child throwing a tantrum.
"Hana." His hand landed on her knee. Warm. Heavy. "Talk to me."
"I don't want to talk."
"Then what do you want?"
She opened her mouth. Closed it. The words were there, ugly and raw, and she didn't want to say them because saying them meant admitting something she wasn't ready to admit. That she was jealous. That she felt like a spare part in her own life. That she'd watched Priya and Amara fall into this easy rhythm with Troy, the three of them trading jokes and touches, and she'd felt the familiar burn of being on the outside looking in.
"I've barely seen you," she said finally, voice small. "All week. You've been with them. Planning things. Talking. And I'm just—" She gestured vaguely. "Here. Waiting for scraps."
"Scraps?" His hand tightened on her knee. "Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is anymore." She pulled her knee away from his hand, hating how much she wanted it back. "You brought me and Priya together. Then you brought Amara in. And now I'm sharing you with two other people and I don't even get to have you to myself anymore."
"Hana—"
"No, let me finish." She stood, whirling to face him, the hem of her dress flaring around her thighs. The movement caught the light, and she saw his eyes drop for just a fraction of a second to where the fabric had lifted, revealing the bare skin beneath. "I'm not Priya, okay? I don't wait quietly. I don't sit in the background and hope someone notices me. I want what I want, and right now I want you to remember that I exist even when you're building your little empire with Amara and playing house with Priya."
Troy leaned back on the bench, arms crossed, a slow smile spreading across his face. The bastard was enjoying this. "You done?"
"No." She planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not done. I've been patient. I've been good. I haven't complained when you cancel our plans because Amara needs to talk, or when Priya calls you in the middle of the night because she can't sleep. I've been the good little girl who smiles and says it's fine. But it's not fine. I'm sick of sharing."
"Come here."
"What?"
"Come here." He patted his lap. "Sit."
"I'm not a dog, Troy."
"No, you're a brat who needs to be reminded that she's not being forgotten." His voice dropped, that low register that made her thighs press together involuntarily. "Now sit."
She should have said no. Should have turned and walked away, made him chase her, made him work for it. But her body was already moving, settling onto his lap with her legs draped over one of his thighs, her dress riding up high enough that she felt the rough fabric of his sweatpants against her bare ass. The heat of him seeped through the thin cotton, and she hated how right it felt.
"I'm still mad," she said, but her voice had lost its edge.
"I know." His hand found her hip, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. "Tell me more."
"About what?"
"About why you're jealous." His thumb traced a circle on her hip bone, slow and deliberate. "Tell me what you think I'm giving them that I'm not giving you."
She swallowed. His hand was moving higher now, sliding under the hem of her dress, palm flat against her bare thigh. The contact sent a shiver through her that she tried to hide by shifting her weight, but the movement only pressed her closer against him, and she felt the hard line of his cock through the sweatpants.
"You talk to Priya," she said, staring at a point past his shoulder. "Really talk. About her life, her studies, her family. And Amara—you respect her. You listen to her. You treat her like she matters."
"I treat you like you matter too."
"No, you treat me like a toy." She said it flat, matter-of-fact, and saw something flicker in his eyes. "A fun, bratty toy that you can wind up and watch spin. But you don't take me seriously. You don't ask me how my day was. You don't—" She stopped. Her voice cracked, and she hated it. "You don't see me."
His hand paused on her thigh. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The willow branches rustled above them. A bird called somewhere in the distance. And then Troy's hand started moving again, sliding higher, finding the wet heat between her legs.
"I see you," he said quietly. His fingers brushed against her folds, spreading the slickness that had gathered there despite her anger. "I see this dress you're wearing. No underwear. You came here knowing exactly what you were doing."
"I came here to yell at you." Her breath hitched as his middle finger slid between her lips, circling her clit without quite touching it. "This is—this is a coincidence."
"Sure it is." He pressed harder, and she bit her lip to stop the moan that wanted out. "You're soaked, Hana. And I haven't even touched you yet."
"That's not—" She gasped as he pushed one finger inside her, slow and deliberate, watching her face. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?" He added a second finger, stretching her, and she gripped his shoulders to keep from falling. "Tell me. While I'm inside you. Tell me why you're really mad."
His fingers curled, finding that spot that made her vision blur, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her voice steady. "Because I'm—" His thumb pressed against her clit, and she lost the sentence. "Because I'm not special. I'm just another girl you fuck. Priya has her shy thing. Amara has her therapist thing. And I'm just—the brat. The one you fuck when you want a challenge. But I'm not—I'm not anything real."
Troy stopped moving. His fingers stayed inside her, but still, and the sudden absence of motion was worse than if he'd pulled out entirely. She looked at him, and his expression had shifted—the amusement gone, replaced by something harder, something that made her stomach flip.
"You think you're not real to me?" He pulled his fingers out slowly, achingly, and brought them to his mouth. He tasted her without breaking eye contact, licking her slickness from his skin, and the sight made her cunt clench around nothing. "You think I bring just anyone into my bed? Into my life?"
"Troy—"
"I asked you to move in with me, Hana. Not Priya. Not Amara. You. And I've been spending more time with them because I thought you needed space, because you told me you had exams coming up and you needed to study." He grabbed her waist, pulled her closer, and she felt his cock straining against the sweatpants, pressing against her bare thigh. "But maybe I've been giving you too much space."
"Maybe you have." Her voice came out breathless, defiant, even as her body leaned into him. "What are you going to do about it?"
His hand found her throat, not tight, just present. A reminder. "I'm going to fuck you right here on this bench, and you're going to keep talking. I want to hear every bratty thought in that pretty head while I take what you came here to give me."
"I didn't come here to—"
"Yes, you did." He pushed her back onto the bench, the rough wood scraping against her thighs as he settled between her legs. "You wore this dress knowing it would drive me crazy. You didn't wear underwear knowing I'd find out. You called me to a secluded spot knowing exactly what would happen." He pulled down his sweatpants, just enough, and his cock sprang free—hard, thick, the head already glistening. "So stop pretending, and let me give you what you actually want."
"And what's that?" She arched an eyebrow, her brattiest voice on full display even as her legs fell open for him. "Enlighten me."
"Attention." He lined himself up, the head pressing against her entrance, teasing. "You want me to focus on you. To make you feel like the only person in the world." He pushed in an inch, and her breath caught. "So I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name, and then I'm going to ask you if you still feel forgotten."
"That's—that's a terrible plan." She gripped the edge of the bench, her nails digging into the wood. "You can't just fuck the jealousy out of me."
"Want to bet?" He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt, and she did moan then, loud enough that a couple walking their dog on the far side of the park probably heard. The stretch was perfect—filling her completely, pressing against every sensitive spot. "Now. Tell me more about how I don't see you."
She gasped as he started moving, slow and deep, each thrust grinding against her clit. "You—you think this fixes everything?" Her voice wavered, broke, and she steadied it. "You think fucking me in a park makes up for a week of ignoring me?"
"I didn't ignore you." He grabbed her hips, angled her differently, and the new position made her see stars. "I gave you space."
"I don't want space." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the sound he made—low and rough—sent a thrill through her. "I want you. All of you. Not the version of you that's dividing himself between three women."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" He slowed down, almost stopping, and she wanted to scream at him to keep going. "Dividing myself?"
"Yes." She glared up at him, even as her body clenched around him, desperate for more. "That's exactly what you're doing. You're spreading yourself thin and I'm the one getting the smallest pieces."
"Hana." He pulled out entirely, and the emptiness was worse than any rejection. She stared up at him, breathless and furious and wet. "Look at me."
She didn't want to. She wanted to turn away, to hide the fact that her eyes were stinging, that her lower lip was trembling. But he cupped her face with a gentleness that didn't match the situation, and she found herself meeting his gaze.
"You are the one who called me here," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You are the one who wore this dress. You are the one who makes me laugh, who challenges me, who doesn't let me get away with anything." He thumbed away a tear she hadn't realized had escaped. "You're not a scrap, Hana. You're a whole damn meal."
She wanted to say something cutting. Something that would bring her armor back. But the words wouldn't come, so instead she grabbed his cock and guided it back to her entrance. "Then stop talking and finish the meal."
He laughed—that warm, disarming laugh that made her knees weak—and pushed back into her, filling her in one smooth motion. "There she is."
"Shut up." She wrapped her legs around him tighter, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts with her own. "And fuck me harder. I need to feel you tomorrow."
"Yeah?" He picked up the pace, slamming into her, the sound of their bodies echoing off the willow branches. "You need to feel me?"
"Yes." She bit her lip, trying to stay coherent. "I want to sit down at dinner tonight and wince. I want Priya to ask what's wrong and I want to say nothing but I want her to know. I want her to see your handprints on my thighs."
"Possessive little thing, aren't you?" He grabbed her hip with one hand, her throat with the other, and the dual grip made her gasp. "You want me to mark you? Claim you?"
"Yes." The word came out as a whimper, and she hated how needy she sounded. "Mark me. Make me yours. And then maybe—maybe you won't forget me again."
"I never forgot you, Hana." He drove into her, deeper now, hitting that spot that made her vision white out. "I couldn't forget you if I tried."
"Good." She clawed at his shoulders, pulling him down to kiss her—messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue. "Then don't try. Don't ever try."
He fucked her through the kiss, his hand still on her throat, his other hand finding her clit and pressing hard. The dual stimulation made her buck against him, her hips rising to meet his thrusts, chasing the edge that was building fast.
"I'm close," she breathed against his mouth. "Don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He increased the rhythm, his fingers working her clit in perfect sync with his thrusts. "Come for me, Hana. Let me feel you."
She wanted to say something bratty. Something about how he didn't get to tell her what to do. But the orgasm was already crashing through her, stealing her voice, leaving her gasping and clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her body. Her back arched off the bench, her nails dug into his shoulders, and she heard herself moan his name like a prayer.
He followed a moment later, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her, his body shuddering with the force of it. She felt every pulse of him, every hot rush, and she held him tighter, not ready to let go.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The willow branches swayed above them. The sun continued its slow descent. And Hana lay there, tangled in Troy's arms, his cum leaking out of her onto the bench, and felt more seen than she had in a week.
She opened her mouth to say something—she wasn't sure what, maybe thank you, maybe I'm sorry, maybe I love you—but what came out was: "That was adequate."
Troy lifted his head, eyebrow raised. "Adequate?"
"You heard me." She pushed at his chest, trying to hide her smile. "You've had better days."
"I just made you come so hard you scratched my back up."
"Coincidence." She finally managed to sit up, adjusting her ruined dress, feeling his release slide down her thigh. "Probably a fluke."
He laughed, shaking his head, and pulled her against his chest. "You're impossible."
"I know." She let herself rest there, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of his skin against her cheek. "Are we okay?"
"We're fine." He kissed the top of her head. "And from now on, I'm making more time for you. Alone time. No Priya, no Amara. Just you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She was quiet for a moment, then: "Good. Because I have a list of demands."
"Of course you do."
"And I expect you to write them down."
"Naturally."
"And I want breakfast tomorrow. The pancakes from that place near campus."
"Anything else, your highness?"
She tilted her head up and gave him her most wicked grin. "Yeah. Next time I call you to a secluded spot? Bring lube. This bench is murder on my back."