“Lillith.”

His voice—warm and deep—made my head snap up instantly.

We locked eyes before he smiled at me. I caught the way his gaze dipped to my bare legs for just a beat too long before he pulled it back.

I also noticed his beard had grown out a little. The olive sweater, sleeves pushed up, veins visible along his forearms. He looked so fucking good.

I never let myself stare long enough to register these details before, but today felt different.

“Come in.”

I stood and followed him into his office, passing close enough to notice the clean scent of soap and mint. I felt his attention on me as I walked by, the awareness dropping low in my stomach.

It was warm out—late spring—and I had taken advantage of it. Cut-off shorts. A soft, thin T-shirt. More skin than he’d ever seen from me before. I knew it. He knew it.

And I wanted him to imagine all the ways—

The thought cut off the moment I sat down.

Dr. Hudson sank into his chair across from me, ankle resting over his knee, his arms draped along the sides. He didn’t rush to look away this time. His gaze traveled, slow and unhurried, from my legs to my eyes.

“How has this week been for you?” he asked after a moment.

His voice sounded deeper than before. Or maybe I was just listening differently.

My mouth went dry. I crossed my legs, half-aware of where his gaze followed. He watched me as I shifted.

“It’s been…fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’m all moved in,” I added, a little too brightly.

He nodded, smiling. “How is it? Being in a new place?”

His hand moved to rest casually over his ankle.

“I think I’m realizing how much I rely on structure,” I said. “Someone else setting the tone.”

He nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“I feel…I don’t know,” I said. “Like I don’t know what to do with myself.”

He listened, letting me fill the space.

I exhaled. “And I saw Johnny again. The day I finished moving out.”

His jaw tightened briefly. “How did that go?”

I leaned back against the couch, staring at my hands. “He didn’t want me to go. He said he didn’t actually want me gone—just for things to stop being so…intense.”

The word cut deep like it always did.

“How did that make you feel?” he asked softly.

“Like shit,” I said, laughing weakly. “I told him he wanted the threat, not the follow-through. But this time was different.”

He held my gaze. “How so?”

Because I want you.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I think…your voice guided me. Reminded me I wasn’t too much. That I was enough.”

I looked up. He was smiling—but not the polite therapist smile. Something different, almost like he was proud.

“Do you do that often?”

“Do what?”

“Let my voice guide you.”

The way he said it—low and carefully—made heat spread throughout my body.

My breath came quicker now. “Yes,” I admitted. “Often.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“And how does that feel for you?” he asked.

I bit down on my lower lip before answering. “It feels like…stability,” I admitted. “Like I’m being held in place.”

His gaze lingered.

“That makes sense,” he said. “Especially given what you shared in our first session.”

He leaned forward just slightly.

“You’re responsive to reassurance,” he continued. “When it’s consistent. When it’s clear.”

My heart raced.

“And here?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“You don’t have to wonder where you stand,” he said.

I held his gaze, my heart thudding hard enough that I was sure he could see it.

“And where do I stand?” I asked quietly.

The question hung between us for a moment. His eyes stayed on mine intently, like he was weighing the answer instead of reaching for the safest one.

“With me,” he said finally, “you’re safe.”

My breath hitched. Heat curled low in my stomach.

“I am?”

Something flickered across his expression.

“Yes."

The silence that followed felt thick, almost tangible. I shifted forward slightly, like I was leaning into the sound of his voice.

He cleared his throat then, and leaned back in his chair, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.

“That’s part of why this space works for you,” he added, more carefully now. “You’re met. Consistently.”

But the damage was already done. Because he hadn’t answered like a therapist first.

He answered like a man who knew exactly what I was asking—and chose not to step away.