I attempt to lose myself in the world of Cato's textbooks. Due to my subpar reading ability, I'm only half certain that the textbook is titled Astrophysics, but all the letters jump around the page, and majority of assumption comes from the image of the galaxy on the cover.

Yet, long ago, it were nights such as this where Cato and I were bound. We'd open up a textbook-maybe even the one I hold now-and lose ourselves for hours in a world beyond our own. Now, this textbook remains a gift, but why? Why now?

It's been weeks since we encountered at the gala, and I thought he'd be deterred by me leaving his study without his permission. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe our little shared kiss on his desk got me under his skin as if I were an itch he can't seem to scratch. He made it quite clear that he wasn't in love with Gemma Patton, but rather, was marrying her for the business relation. His relationship with Gemma must've persuaded Frank Patton to make the Leveque's partners in the research centre he plans to build, one that gives Thomas mountains of headaches. Bloody hell, Cato's name is in there. It must be for Cato's research.

Cato.

It's so strange how that man runs my emotions up hills and then drops my heart down at the pit of the sea.

But Cato's not the only one who has my heart within their grasp.

Cato sends me to the stars, but Thomas sets everything within me ablaze.

My mind fills itself with images of Thomas. Just a flash of his smile. His bare skin. His lips. His chest. His-

Oh daffodil.

I shoot up from my bed, Cato's textbook tumbling onto the floor.

Thomas is a whole other deviation in my reality. Cato had always been my center of attention, but then Thomas came in and shrouded my clarity with his smoke and ocean eyes. All it took was one 'yes' to work alongside him and look where that brought us. We're entangled now-so entwined that I distract him from his duties.

And to cure him from that distraction, he's started to push me away when I want him to pull me in closer. It's like I'm in withdrawal from his attention, his kisses, his touches, like I'm diagnosed with some sort of addiction to him. He hooked me on him, and now he's all I want.

I crave the man like the man craves a cigarette.

He's everything that could scorch me in the end, leaving me with burns and scars in his wake, but it's a heat I covet.

I close my eyes, dreaming of having his strong arms laced around my body. My fingers travel up the dragon tattoo itching up his bicep-one inked and the other bare, yet scarred sunkissed skin. I study the way my touch follows the pronounced veins that strike from his muscles. His whisper wanes in my ear like a distant echo: daffodil, fall.

And yet, I can't, because when my eyes open, I know Thomas isn't here.

He's out at Vince's bar or gallivanting the cityside on some sort of business ordeal. Or rather, he's asleep. What would he say if I arrived at his doorstep? He always asks me to stay, despite making me the least of his priorities. I should wait until morning, but the night is still quite young and I'm desperate.

I want him.

Now.

Gosh, I'm going mad.

What I'm about to do is stupid and naïve, and it goes against the only lesson that I know: to stay.

The world tells me I'm safe with the Leveque's, and I know I am, but what the world doesn't understand is that I'm safe within Thomas' arms. I trusted him with everything that I am,.

Am I truly this lonely that I'm going to run to him at this hour?

I'm a fool to ever ask myself that question, because whenever I gaze into those blue eyes, all I see is a reflection of myself that I've never seen before: a woman, an equal, a partner.

I swing out of bed and grab a handful of cash from my bedside drawer. I open up my bedroom door. The hallways remain shadowed, unlit. Audwin and Evelyn have long gone to bed, and most of the servants have gone to their quarters as well. I'm thankful that tonight, the estate rests.

Under the stars, I run towards the gate, unlocking and swinging them open before any of the Leveque's security draws suspicion. Besides, it's not exactly unknown to the guards that servants sometimes sneak out at night. I usually stay within these walls, but sometimes the girls spend their week's pay at the marketplaces and bars. To be short and sweet, the security are more concerned about who sneaks in at night, rather than who sneaks out.

I wave at the first cab that I see.

"Can you take me to..." Bloody hell, what's Thomas' address?

The cab driver raises his brow, confused.

Fortunately, I have the route from the Leveque's to Thomas' apartment completely memorized in my head. "Can you just drive and I tell you where to go?"

The cab driver just nods, and drives away from the curb.

I wish the driver was Thomas. I wish I was sitting in the passenger's seat of his car, holding his hand as he drives down every bend in the road.

It's nearly two in the morning, and the doubts of my escapades have started to creep in. There's no plan to what I'll say to him when I arrive. What if he's busy? Or, what if he's replaced me with some other girl? He's quite an attractive man, and I'm sure all those women just long for a taste of his lips against their own. I don't want to be a conquest to add to his list.

Yet, I don't think Thomas is that type of man.

"Turn left," I sputter, lost in my nighttime fantasies of Thomas.

What has this man done to me?

The remainder of the cab ride goes by with better focus, as I force myself to pay attention to the road rather than to my desire-filled thoughts.

I step out of the cab and scan the expanse of the building Thomas calls 'home'. The fourth floor, the top of the building, awaits me. From up there, the balcony attached to his bachelor's apartment hangs over the street: Smyth Street. From this angle, no lights appear to be on, so he must be asleep, or perhaps not even home.

It's now I realize that coming here, at this goddamned hour in the night, is a mistake.

I swing around to tell the cab driver to take me back to the Leveque's, but I've already used up all my spare change. Besides, the moment my door shut, the cab left to collect some other wandering soul.

The chance to turn back was a long time ago, before I entered that cab.

Here goes nothing.

I open the door to the bar and step inside, only to be met by the pungent scent of cigarette smoke. Through the haze, I catch two bodies sitting on the barstool-the only two customers at this forsaken hour of the night: Thomas and Dane. Vince stands behind them, pouring them both another glass of a glistening brown liquid.

The three men shift their attention to the door as it creaks shut behind me. Yet, my gaze only finds those ocean irises sparking the moment his eyes strike mine. Thomas draws the cigarette from his lips, the smoke filling the void between us in a grey veil.

Dane grunts from beside Thomas. "You called her?"

"Why the fuck would I call her at this time of night?"

"What? A guy like you doesn't get lonely?" he chuckles.

"She's not my mistress."

"Never said she was," Dane wiggles his brows a little, to which Thomas snarls.

Thomas smashes out his cigarette on the countertop, his blue eyes narrowing on my frame. He's anything from discreet. He studies my torso, his eyes lingering on my chest before admiring the rest of my frame. It's not like I'm dressed for propriety, either. I'm in my night clothes-an error of attire that I never should of made.

Thomas' barstool screeches as he pushes away from the counter. "No fucking word about this."

Thomas' blue eyes fail to break from my gaze. We're magnets, stuck in the same gravitational pull. He's the negative to my positive, my opposite that causes us to attract. He prowls his way over to the door where I stand like a wolf stalking its prey.

His towering body stands before me like a god, and I know beneath his clothes, he's built like an ancient god. Thomas tilts his head down at me, a smirk edging his oh-so-very-kissable lips. He licks those lips with his tongue, taking his time as if he knows my eyes watch him.

It's him I want, and it's him that's causing my heart to accelerate at light speed.

He leans into my ear. "It's too late for you to be out, daffodil."

I swoon in at the lowness of his voice. Thomas places a hand on my lower back as if to catch me from tipping over.

"I missed you," I whisper against his cheek.

It's strange saying those three words aloud. I've seen Thomas nearly everyday, but that's not the Thomas I adore. He's become a marionette to his business, where he commands his employees around like puppets on strings. That Thomas doesn't smile. He's a man of stone, without a hint of emotion left within him.

The Thomas I love—I see him now. That chuckle. That hint of his deep laugh. The spark in those blue irises.

"I'll make sure you sleep well tonight," he whispers, his voice almost playful. "But next time you decide to come here at two in the morning, just call me."

I nod my head, which earns a seductive 'hmmm' from him.

Thomas has me at his mercy, and he knows it.

He scoops me in his arms, lifting me off the ground. I settle my head into his shoulder, taking a deep breath into his clothes. They smell of him, of smoke and ash. Yet, there's a hint of wildflower within the scent. I close my eyes.

Thomas kisses my temple, his lips lingering against my skin. When it breaks, his switches his attention to Vince and Dane.

"Don't disturb me tomorrow." It's an order.

"What if it's important?" Dane chides. "What if we find—"

"Don't," the coldness of Thomas' voice sends a shiver up my spine, but I know there's a heat hidden inside of him.

He carries me up the stairs. With every step, my patience for him only thins. I lift my head from his shoulder and crane my lips into his neck, showering him with deepened smooches that surely leave their mark. He groans, the noise low and vibratory in approval.

The apartment door clicks shut behind us, and we both lose our balance. We crash against the closed apartment door, our mouths frantic in a battle to suffice the heat beneath our skin. The urge for intimacy spills from me, but he reciprocates every desire that crosses my mind.

He wants this. I want him.

His palm finds my chin, his fingertips grazing the skin as he tugs my lips wide open. His tongue invades to search the seams of my mouth in full exploration. In return, I give him control to kiss what he pleases, to touch what he longs to feel. My body falls limp in his arms.

Thomas pulls away to let me catch my lost breath. He bites the lobe of my ear. "Why'd you come here? You know I would've dropped everything to get you."

"Would you have? You're always so busy, and I didn't want you to brush me off."

A tick in his jaw clenches. "You sound desperate."

"I think I'm in love with you," the answer flutters from my mouth before I can catch it.

"Those are dangerous words, daffodil."

And they are dangerous, maybe to him, but to me, this whole relationship we've tangled ourselves into is already a danger. He's a fire that isn't meant to be played with, yet here I am.

"Stay with me tonight," I beg, adding kindling to our fire. "I... I don't want to be alone."

He moves within a split second. A strained 'yes' leaves his lips at the command. He pulls down the straps of my dress, and it only takes him a moment until it falls at my feet. I sigh as he sinks his lips down against my collar, then chest. There's a wildness under his skin—as if I awakened the beast's hunger.

I will be his feast.

I tug at his clothes, and they fly across the apartment. His shirt. His trousers. His gun. When my fingertips brush over the bulge in his boxers, Thomas averts my touch as he snatches my wrist in his hand.

He pins me deeper against the apartment door, his blue eyes shrouded in pools of desire. "Do you even know what love is? How dangerous it will be?"

"You sound like you're afraid," I breathe.

"Me? Afraid? I'm warning you that whatever the hell this is won't be easy."

"I'm not asking for it to be easy."

He chuckles a little at this, smirking as he leans into my ear. "Maybe you are a distraction, but goddamnit, how can I look away?" he murmurs as his fingertip trails down my skin, drawing swirls against my inner thigh. "You're a bad habit I can't seem to break, daffodil."

Somehow, laying in the stability of his arms transforms into bedsheets. I sprawl against the wrinkles; my body bare in the moonlight. My skin appears like porcelain, while his shimmers like gold. Each scar of his remains a treasure, an imperfection more valuable than anything he could ever give.

Thomas crawls above me on fours, but not before rolling me over so I lay on my stomach. His lips trail up my skin in open mouth kisses. His mouth dusts over my spine, his lips brushing each vertebrae, each ridge of my body. Each motion feels like he's placing a piece of his guarded heart upon me. I'm here to take those pieces and claim them.

"Daffodil?" he murmurs as his lips brush up my neck. He lays himself against me, his boxers the only barrier between us.

"Thomas?"

His chest presses deeper against my spine, our bodies so close it feels like we already are one. "Welcome home."

Who knew those two words would be the death of me.

He presses his lips up against mine, his movements so raw as if he were claiming me. Perhaps, he is staking his claim to bring his daffodil home.

The kiss breaks as I feel him lower his boxers down. I roll my body over so I come face-to-face with the god in front of me. He's a sculpture chiseled by the finest artist, a true masterpiece of scars and tattooes. He's beautiful in so many ways—not just in physicality, but gosh, he's got a kind heart aching to beat inside of him.

His apartment isn't home, but these arms I'm trapped within belong to a man I can call home. And I know I'm his home. I'm where he feels safe, where he feels loved.

He cracks a smile. "You have that look in your eye."

"What look?"

"The one you get when you're lost in thought."

"You're just... I just..." How do I even phrase what I feel? The words 'I love you' have already slipped from my lips, and the confession itself seems so rash. "I just want to be with you. Be near you. I just need you."

But I don't just need him in the physical sense. Here, in this bed, I have his emotional attention. I could ask him anything and it would drip from him in a second. His heart pounds against mine, and we're in sync. I've never been closer to it, his heart, and for some odd inkling, I doubt anyone else ever has.

Thomas reaches for the bedside table, fumbling through his drawer until he pulls out a condom. He puts it between his teeth, tearing the golden wrapper.

"You're in luck, daffodil," he grits as he slides the condom on. "I happen to be staying here all night, and probably all day."

We adjust ourselves until we're ready to unify—we're awkward at first, but when we find the way our bodies groove, the way our limbs mesh, it's magnificent. Thomas' hand sifts through the bedsheets in desperation, searching for a stability to anchor his desire. I lace my fingers between his own, but he hardly wants to stay ashore. When he finds my touch, he lets go and pries my legs wide open.

I swallow as the nerves start to crash down on me, but the thought only lasts for a moment when he drives his length deep into me.

I scream at the pain, as it soon transforms into an all-consuming pleasure.

"Thomas!"

Moonlight streams against Thomas' skin as he moves above me, his eyes lidded with desire.

"Fuck," he moans as he plunges himself deep into my core yet again, unravelling every inch of me with every motion.

I grip his shoulders, his skin marked from my nails in tiny crescents as he thrusts again, this time harder. A cry escapes from me as I meet him yet again. And again. Until the only sounds that fill our world are our heavy breaths, heartbeats, and bedposts colliding with the wall. His skin burns against mine like a fire, and I allow myself to get scorched time and time again.

"Thomas—"

He silences me with a harsh kiss, but a kiss broken with a growlish 'daffodil'. He struggles to hold back, to let me reach my fall before he finds his own. Yet, here we are. Together. Building our climb up to our peak.

I grip his dirty blonde hair, pulling at it as his mouth cranes into my throat. He feels good. Too good. And yet, how did we end up here? Somehow, Thomas and I are a formula that makes sense. Fate wrote our equation, and we came out as compatible numbers. This moment is the result of it all.

Yet, behind this moment of beauty, there's a danger that I fear.

"You're so fucking tight," Thomas murmurs as he grips into my hip, angling it slightly as he thrusts inside me once more. This time, I cry out at the sensations he builds up in my core. That devilish smirk he gives only adds to my addiction to him.

He besieges that spot within me, almost as if he has it memorized within his mind. Each thrust becomes relentless, a rapid pulse of pleasure passing through every nerve inside of me.

He kisses my lips, this time softer than before. "Fall with me, daffodil."

I come loose in his arms, falling harder into bliss than I ever have before. And Thomas? He takes my hand in his, his expression a twisted relief as he finishes. His eyes remain close, and a lock of blonde hair drifts across his forehead.

I stroke a hand down his back as he collapses on my skin. He chased ecstasy, and now he revels in an untouchable pleasure. He found peace in a girl who was only meant to be a distraction.

As the night passes by and the sun begins to rise, I only hold that boy—that mysterious scarred man—close against my chest.

When I find his lips, I kiss him. Not one of hunger, not of one of desire, but a kiss that lingers until you've lost track of the world and time.

My dear, Thomas. I never should have said the word 'think' before, because even then you said it was dangerous.

Now, I know I am in love with you.

━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━

This chapter will probably be rewritten again, but enjoy this new version of it!

So is anyone in love with Thomas yet or is it just me?

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Updated October 14, 2022.