The house had quieted. Evening had folded into night, and a gentle hush blanketed the halls like velvet. Only the soft rustle of trees outside and the occasional creak of aged wood dared to disturb the silence. The moonlight spilled across the balcony outside the study, silver and smooth, pooling like liquid glass over the stone railing.
Erin stood there, arms folded loosely, her hair caught by a mild breeze. The night air brushed against her skin, cool and calming, but her thoughts were anything but. Her mind whirled—Aurelia's call, the evidence in the safe, the choice she nearly made, and most of all… him.
Xander.
She had meant to clear her head, to remind herself why she was here. But nothing felt clear anymore. There was no defined path, no singular mission pulsing through her veins like it once had. There was only confusion. And emotion. And the ache in her chest that refused to leave every time she thought about him.
A footstep sounded behind her. She turned her head just slightly, enough to see him.
Xander.
He wasn't dressed for sleep—still in black slacks and a dark button-down, the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up casually to his elbows. His expression was unreadable, but not cold. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded. His presence didn't startle her, not anymore.
"You couldn't sleep either?" he asked, his voice low.
She shook her head. "No."
"Me neither."
He stepped forward and came to stand beside her. Not too close, not touching, just… there. Present. Their shoulders were nearly aligned as they looked out at the night sky. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was thick with unsaid words.
After a moment, Erin spoke first.
"I thought I knew what I was doing." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Everything was so clear when I first came here. But now… I don't even know who I am when I'm with you."
Xander didn't answer right away. He turned to look at her, his gaze heavy and intent. "I've lived my whole life pretending," he said quietly. "For my brothers. For this house. For what people expect from me. But when I'm with you… I don't want to pretend."
She turned to him, facing him fully now. Her eyes searched his, the moonlight catching on her lashes. Her lips parted like she might say something more, but nothing came.
He reached up slowly, cupping her cheek in his palm. His touch was warm. Grounding.
"Then don't," she whispered.
Their eyes held. His thumb brushed her cheek. Then, as if pulled by a magnetic force, he leaned in—slowly, deliberately—giving her space to move away.
But she didn't. She tilted her face toward him, lips barely parted.
And he kissed her.
It was soft at first—tender and searching—but it deepened quickly, the air thickening between them. Erin's hands reached for him, curling around his neck, pulling him closer as he pressed her back gently against the cool stone of the balcony.
His hand slid down to her waist, gripping her like she was something fragile and precious, yet something he couldn't bear to let go of. She gasped softly against his mouth, and that sound—raw and real—snapped something inside him.
Without breaking the kiss, he bent and lifted her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She clutched at his shirt, breath hitched, heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
He carried her inside, each step measured and steady, his lips never once leaving hers. The hallways were shadows and silence, but she felt no fear. Only heat. Only him.
He pushed open the door to his room and nudged it closed behind them with his foot. The soft click of the lock was the only sound between their deepened breaths.
He walked them toward the bed, lowering her carefully onto the mattress like she was something breakable, something sacred. His body hovered above hers, eyes meeting hers with a pause—one last pause—as if asking if she wanted this.
And she did.
She nodded once.
He kissed her again—slow, deep, and consuming—like he was learning every corner of her soul through it. Her fingers threaded through his hair, anchoring herself to him as he anchored himself to her.
Outside, the night continued undisturbed. But inside that room, time stilled. For once, there were no missions. No betrayals. No lies.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted gold across her cheeks, highlighting the tremble in her lashes and the hesitant rise and fall of her chest. Her lips were slightly parted, breath shallow, as though her body was waiting for permission to surrender.
His mouth claimed hers again, not with the urgency of before, but with a slow, savoring heat. It was the kind of kiss that made the world shrink until only they existed. His fingers threaded through her hair as his lips found the curve of her jaw, trailing down to the tender hollow beneath her ear. Erin's hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, the feel of him above her grounding and electric all at once.
A soft sound escaped her throat when his mouth found her neck, warm and possessive. One hand slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, rough fingertips brushing against soft, bare skin. But just as he began to lift it higher—
"Xander," she whispered, voice tight with a mix of need and resistance. "You don't even know who I really am. Why… why do you want this?"
He stilled, his breath hot against her collarbone. Then he raised his head, meeting her eyes.
"I don't care who or what you are," he said, his voice low, hoarse. "I want you. All of you. Whoever you are, whatever you're hiding… it doesn't change this."
The words unraveled something in her. Her resolve cracked—not because she believed him, but because a part of her wanted to. Wanted to be wanted like this. Needed.
His hands moved again, this time with reverence and desire braided into one. He caressed her slowly, learning the curves of her body as though each touch were a vow. When his mouth replaced his hands, lingering at her throat, her collarbone, lower still—her fingers gripped the sheets, breath stuttering.
His kisses made her feel like she was being consumed and worshipped all at once. He took his time, mapping her responses, coaxing out sounds she didn't know she could make. When his hand slipped between her thighs, her whole body arched instinctively, heat flooding her skin. She gasped, tried to stifle it, but the pressure of his touch unraveled her completely.
Just when the tension within her was about to snap—he stopped. She whimpered, confused and aching.
But when she looked at him, the hunger in his eyes told her this wasn't the end. It was a pause—a promise.
He kissed his way down her body with a focus that made her shiver, and when his lips met her core, she forgot how to breathe. He was looking up staring into her eyes as if he wanted to consume her reactions.
His finger entered her earning him a moan. His touch and mouth moved in perfect rhythm, pushing her higher and higher until stars burst behind her eyes, her body breaking open like a wave crashing against shore.
As her body stilled, trembling in the aftermath, she thought it was over.
But Xander wasn't done.
He rose above her, gaze dark and tender. His lips brushed hers again, slow and deep, and then—he reached down between them.
Erin's breath hitched as he freed himself, her eyes widening at the sight. The look on her face must have said it all.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Don't be scared," he whispered. "You can take me. I'll be gentle."
She barely had time to process it before he began to ease into her, and though his voice was soft, his body trembled with restraint.
"I've never… tried to go slow before," he admitted, breath shaky. "But for you… I want to."
And so he did. Every motion, every breath, was laced with effort and care, but the tension in his body betrayed how much he was holding back. Erin clung to him, overwhelmed by sensation, the world blurring around her. There was nothing else—only the feel of him, the sound of his voice in her ear, the way his body moved with hers like they were meant for this, meant for each other.
And as he whispered her name into her skin, she realized something terrifying and beautiful:
She didn't want him to stop.
Her voice was a breath against his skin, shaky but resolute.
"Don't hold back."
Xander stilled, his forehead resting against hers. His breath hitched. She had said it—told him not to stop, not to hold back. Told him she wanted all of him, just as he was.
And for a moment, that shattered something in him. A wall, maybe. Or a lifetime of restraint.
He drew back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were wide, not in fear, but with conviction. She looked… beautiful like this. Not just because of the soft glow on her cheeks or the curve of her lips or the wild disarray of her hair. But because she was letting herself be seen. Truly seen.
Xander didn't say anything. Words would only dilute the weight of the moment. He kissed her instead—hungrily, needfully—like her mouth was the only answer he needed. His hands gripped her hips more firmly now, and when he moved again, there was no hesitation.
She gasped against his lips as the pace shifted, as every line between restraint and surrender blurred completely. There was nothing careful about him anymore. No more edges softened for her sake. No more hiding behind gentleness. He gave her what she asked for—his raw, unfiltered self. All of it.
Each breath between them was charged. The rhythm between their bodies grew relentless, like waves crashing with no intention of slowing. Erin's fingers dug into his back, not to anchor herself—but to urge him on. To tell him she could take more. That she wanted more.
She arched under him, her name slipping from his lips like a broken prayer. He kissed her again, kissed her through every sound she made, every tremble, every tightening breath.
He had never known need like this—so consuming it bordered on madness. And he'd never let himself feel this much. Not ever. But with her, there was no room for denial.
The room felt like it had disappeared. There was only her. Only Erin.
And when her body tensed beneath his and he felt her come apart in his arms, it nearly undid him. Her name, again, fell from his lips, tangled with a groan and something far more fragile—something almost like reverence.
He followed her into the same ruinous bliss, clutching her like she was the only thing left in the world.
Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. Every breath, every tremor, every heartbeat said more than words ever could.
He didn't let go.
He wasn't sure he ever would.