Chapter 544: The Fears

"Not

no no

. Just—" She dragged in a shaky breath, her thighs still trembling around his hips, his half-hard cock still buried inside her, cum and slick slowly leaking out and coating both their laps.

"—not yet. This is fast. Really fast. I met you last night. We had amazing sex. You made me come—" She counted silently, cheeks flushing hotter. "—seven times total. And now you’re asking me to be your girlfriend while you have how many women again?"

"Fifteen or more? That does matter really."

"Yes, right, I remember...

Fifteen."

The laugh that tore out of her was ragged, almost manic. "I don’t know if I can share. I don’t know if they’ll accept me. I don’t know if I can handle watching you with them. I just—I don’t know, Peter."

He didn’t speak. Just held her close, one big hand stroking up and down the sweat-slick curve of her spine while the other kept her impaled on him, refusing to let her feel empty even now.

"I want to date you." She finally met his eyes, dark and wet with unshed tears. "Actually date. The whole thing. Dinners. Movies. Getting to know each other beyond sex. While I adjust. While I figure out if I can handle this harem situation."

"Okay."

She blinked, startled. "Really? You’re not upset?"

"Why would I be?" His fingers threaded gently through her tangled hair. "You’re being honest about what you need."

"Most guys would push. Would try to convince me. Would make promises."

"I’m not most guys."

"No." Her palms slid over his sharp jaw, tracing cheekbones that belonged on a statue. "You’re definitely not."

She studied him—lips swollen from her teeth, the faint red lines her nails had left across his shoulders. He looked like sin made flesh and somehow still managed to look at her like she was the only thing in the universe worth seeing.

"How many did you say again?"

"You’d be the twenty second maybe?"

"Twenty women." She dropped her face into her hands, muffled laugh shaking her shoulders. "Oh my god. What would my mother say if she knew?"

He actually laughed—low, warm, vibrating through his chest and into hers. He tugged her hands away, thumbs brushing her wet cheeks. "Your mother won’t be a problem."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Trust me." He kissed her forehead, then slid off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of her, still gloriously naked, cock heavy and wet with them both.

"Peter—what are you—"

"Being formal." He took both her trembling hands in his. Looked up at her with those impossible eyes. "Women like you—brilliant, successful, powerful women—need to know they matter. Need to be shown, not just told. So, I’m asking properly."

Her breath hitched. Tears burned.

"Priya Sharma." His voice was steady, reverent. "Will you go out with me? Let me show you what this could be? Let me prove that you can have everything—your career, your success, your independence—and me?"

She stared down at him—this god on his knees for her—and felt her heart crack wide open.

Then she sank down too, knees hitting the carpet so they were face to face, her ruined dress still twisted around her waist, cum still dripping slowly down her thighs.

"Ask me properly," she whispered. "Ask me to be your girlfriend."

His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking away the tears that had started to fall.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Priya?"

"Not yet." She mirrored him, palms on his cheeks. "But I’ll date you. Give this a real chance. See if I can handle sharing you. See if this is real or just—" She waved a shaky hand between them, at the wreck of the bed, the mess they’d made of each other. "—whatever supernatural thing you go on going."

"That’s enough." He dragged her into his arms, crushing her to his chest. "That’s more than enough."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not pushing. For understanding. For respecting that I need time."

He pulled back, cupped her jaw. "Your career matters, Priya. Your success matters. Everything you’ve built matters. I’m not asking you to give anything up. Not your job. Not your goals. Not your independence. You’ve come far from there to where you’re and I respect that. I will never push you to compromise and throw your hard work away. Just add me to your life. However, that looks for you."

"And if I can’t handle sharing you?"

"Then we deal with that when it happens. I’m not going to lie to you—the other women exist. They’re part of my life. But you’re choosing this. On your terms. Your timeline. Your rules."

"And they’re okay with this? With you adding more women?"

"Some are adjusting better than others. Some mask it better. But they all chose it. And they’ll respect you and love you, mostly they’ll love you, never harm you or disrespect you."

"Peter—"

"I mean it. You matter. Your happiness matters. Your career matters. Your family matters. All of it matters because you matter."

Tears spilled over. "How are you sixteen?"

"I’m not. Not really." He wiped them away with his thumbs, gentle as breath. "Whatever I am, I’m old enough to know what I want. And I want you. However long it takes."

She kissed him—soft at first, then desperate, messy, tasting salt and sex and him. When they broke apart she was openly crying.

"No one’s ever—" The words choked off.

"I know." He pulled her against his chest, let her sob into his shoulder, one hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles while the other kept her close. "But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere."

She cried harder—years of armor cracking, all the loneliness and pressure and pride pouring out against his skin. He never moved, never shushed her, just held her until the storm passed.

When the tears finally slowed, she pulled back, laughing wetly. "I’m a mess."

"You’re beautiful."

"I’m crying and I probably look—"

"You’re beautiful," he repeated, fierce. "And you’re brilliant. You just closed a $200 million deal. You’re on track for partner at one of LA’s top firms. You support your family back home. You built everything from nothing. That’s not a mess. That’s fucking incredible."

"How did you know—" She stopped. "About my family. My parents. You researched me."

"I did. While you slept."

Technically, she’d told him yesterday but reminding her what a mistake that was, was worse that admitting he researched about her

"That’s invasive."