Please

The last traces of the evening lingered in the cool night air as Liam's car pulled away from the curb. Headlights swept across the quiet suburban street before disappearing around the corner, leaving the neighbourhood still again. Beside Evan, Stacy lifted one final wave, body leaning comfortably against his side beneath the porch light.

Comfortably.

That was the terrifying part.

Warm air drifted out from the open front door behind them while the cooler spring breeze brushed against her bare legs. One arm rested loosely around Evan's waist, fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his shirt. Even that small contact sent a low pulse of heat through her body. Nothing explosive this time. Nothing overwhelming. Just constant. Persistent. A simmer beneath her skin that refused to go away.

God.

Hours ago, she'd thought pretending would be the hard part. Instead, pretending had felt easy. Natural. She wished she could make herself feel more upset about that, the hijacking of her impulses, the theft of her consent. But she couldn't, no matter how many times she tried.

Dinner had flowed so smoothly that entire stretches of the evening blurred together now. Laughing beside him. Refilling drinks. Touching his shoulder every time she passed behind his chair. Leaning close when she spoke. Smiling at his jokes before she'd even consciously registered them.

Every instinct she had left screamed that it should have felt wrong. Instead it had felt... good. Safe. No, worse than safe.

Wanted.

A faint shiver ran through her as Evan shifted slightly beside her. The movement brushed his arm more firmly against her side, and instantly her body reacted. Heat bloomed low in her stomach. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily beneath the hem of her dress. Somewhere behind her ribs, her pulse quickened.

Ridiculous.

Infuriating.

And impossible to stop.

The deal mattered. She clung to that thought desperately. Earlier in the kitchen, she'd made him promise. Watch me. Stop me. Don't let me lose myself in this. At the time, the arrangement had seemed practical. Necessary. Evan would stay objective. He'd keep her grounded whenever the potion tried pushing her too far.

Except somewhere during dinner, the lines had started blurring.

Because there had been moments, real moments, where Stacy honestly couldn't tell whether she was acting anymore. Every time she'd touched him, warmth had rushed through her. Every time he'd quietly redirected her wandering hands, she'd felt the loss instantly. Like he'd taken something away from her. Something she needed.

Need.

Even now, standing beside him on the porch, part of her wanted to turn into his chest and stay there. Curl against him. Feel his arms close around her properly instead of this half-measured contact they'd drifted into.

The thought alone sent another hot wave through her body.

Jesus Christ.

She hated this.

And she hated how much she didn't.

Beside her, Evan remained quiet. Tense beneath the surface, though less than he'd been earlier. Stacy could feel it in the way he carried himself. The rigid anxiety that had followed him all evening had softened somewhat while she'd leaned against him. Another awful realization.

Being close to her calmed him.

Being close to him calmed her.

Like the magic approved.

Like it wanted this.

The porch light painted soft gold across the side of his face as he stared out toward the street. Handsome, unfortunately. Not movie-star handsome. Worse. Familiar handsome. The kind that snuck up on someone gradually. Dark hair. Warm eyes. The rough edge of exhaustion sitting beneath his features tonight. Stacy's gaze lingered a second too long on his mouth, imagining leaning into him, pressing her own lips into his, losing herself in the kiss...

No.

Absolutely not.

That line of thinking immediately triggered another pulse of arousal anyway, sharp enough this time to make her breathing increase slightly.

Wonderful. Apparently resisting him turned her on too now. Maybe the magic had finally broken something fundamental inside her.

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't awkward. That was the other horrible part. Standing there together felt easy in a way she couldn't explain. The evening noise had faded. Guests gone. House quiet behind them. Just the two of them beneath the porch light.

Like a real couple.

The thought should've horrified her more than it did. Instead, her arm tightened subtly around his waist. A contented sigh escaped before she could stop it. And immediately she felt him stiffen.

The shift came fast. Stacy sensed it before he even moved. His body tightening. His breathing changing slightly. Guilt radiating off him almost palpably.

Then he stepped away.

The sudden absence hit her like cold water. Instantly, instinct took over. Her hand shot out toward him before she'd consciously decided to move, fingers catching briefly against his sleeve.

"Evan..." she whined softly, voice small in a way she'd never heard from herself before. "Baby..."

The word left her mouth and horror flashed through her a split second later.

Baby?

What the hell was wrong with her?

"No."

Firm. Careful. Controlled.

Another step backward opened space between them, and the emptiness that followed made something inside her chest ache sharply.

"Stacy, they're gone," he said carefully. "We can stop now. We need to stop now."

The words struck harder than they should have. Because for one awful second, she'd forgotten they were pretending.

No, not forgotten. Stopped caring was more accurate.

Porch light spilled across him as she stared silently, trying to collect herself through the haze of need and embarrassment swirling together in her head. Her skin still burned where she'd touched him. Her body still screamed at her to close the distance again.

And beneath all of that sat something worse: hurt. Not because he'd rejected her romantically. Rationally, she knew he'd done the right thing. The necessary thing. But some twisted, potion-soaked part of her had wanted him to pull her closer instead.

Tears threatened unexpectedly. Mortifyingly. For one terrifying moment, Stacy thought she might actually cry over him stepping away from her.

Then clarity crashed back in hard enough to leave her dizzy.

Oh God.

What had she been doing?

Heat flooded her face. Shame. Humiliation. The spell-like warmth she'd been floating in all evening fractured just enough for reality to push through again.

Evan had kept his word. He'd stopped her. Even though he clearly wanted her too. That realization that what she was feeling was mutual landed strangely heavily in her chest.

Because at any point he could've taken advantage of it. All evening, honestly. Nobody would've questioned it. Not after the way she'd behaved. The touching. The cuddling. The constant attention. Half the night she'd practically been throwing herself at him.

And Evan had still pulled away. Still protected her from herself.

A long breath left her quietly. Not anger. Not resentment. Resignation.

Without trusting herself to speak, Stacy turned and walked back into the house.

The door shut softly behind her. Warmth wrapped around her immediately, but without Evan beside her the ache returned almost at once. A restless craving under her skin. Her arms actually felt empty.

Pathetic.

She pressed her palms briefly against the kitchen counter, eyes closed. He'd done the right thing. So why did she miss him already?

Upstairs, the bedroom waited. Their bedroom.

The thought triggered another flash of heat between her legs. At this point she almost laughed. The potion was relentless.

Slowly, Stacy climbed the stairs, exhaustion finally beginning to settle into her bones. Emotional exhaustion more than physical. Fighting the potion all day felt like swimming against a current that never weakened.

By the time she stepped into the bedroom, her nerves felt scraped raw.

The dress came off first. Thank God. Beautiful or not, the thing had become dangerous by the end of the night. Every glance Evan gave her while she wore it had sent tiny sparks of pleasure through her body. Every brush of his attention had made her feel desirable in ways she'd never felt before.

Not because David hadn't loved her before the magic began interfering. But because the potion had recontextualized the love she had felt from David as somehow lesser, weaker, less substantial. The thought hurt less now than it had earlier. Still painful. Still devastating. But dulled somewhat beneath the immediate chaos of everything else.

Soft sleep shorts replaced the dress. Then an oversized pajama top. Chosen deliberately. Comfortable. Modest. Hers. Even knowing the magic would probably it overnight. At least this much still felt like control.

The ensuite light flicked on briefly as Stacy leaned over the sink, wiping away makeup with slow, tired motions. Bit by bit, the polished hostess disappeared from the mirror, leaving only exhaustion and flushed skin behind. Even there, alone for all of thirty seconds, thoughts of Evan still crept in, bringing another frustrating pulse of heat low in her stomach. Irritated with herself, she rinsed the cloth, shut off the light, and returned to the bedroom before the spiral could get any worse.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Stacy stared down at her hands for a long moment.

Evan is a good man.

The thought surfaced quietly. Immediately afterward came the familiar stab of conflict. Because he was also the reason her life had shattered.

He had bought the potion.

He had brought it into the house.

Even if he hadn't meant for this to happen. Even if he never intended to use it on her. None of that changed reality.

And yet...

Tonight he'd protected her.

Again and again.

Every subtle rejection during dinner. Every gentle redirection. Every moment he could've leaned into what the magic wanted from them, he hadn't.

The porch most of all. A weaker man would've kissed her. God knew she'd wanted him to.

The realization sent another deep throb of arousal through her body, frustratingly intense now that she was alone with her thoughts. Stacy clenched her jaw hard.

Enough.

Except it wasn't enough. Because now another fear crept in.

Bed.

Sleep.

Punishment.

The previous nights flashed unpleasantly through her mind. One night, every attempt to fall asleep alone had ended with sharp pain jerking her awake. Another had been worse: waves of unbearable arousal every time unconsciousness started pulling her under, until she'd been left trembling and **** in the dark.

The potion did not like separation. And tonight, after everything? Stacy genuinely didn't want to find out how far the punishment could escalate.

Movement downstairs pulled her from the spiral. Footsteps. The front door locking. Evan coming inside.

Instantly her pulse jumped. Arousal followed immediately after, warm and invasive. She could practically map his progress through the house by the way her body reacted. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Then footsteps on the stairs. A nervous knot twisted low in her stomach. The bedroom door creaked softly open.

"Hey," Evan said quietly.

Too many emotions hit her at once when she looked at him. Relief first. Then attraction. Then guilt for feeling attraction. Then frustration about the guilt. Her body wanted him near her again so badly it physically hurt.

"You okay?" he finally asked after the silence stretched too long.

No.

Absolutely not.

But explaining that felt impossible. Instead, Stacy swallowed carefully and **** herself to focus on the practical reality in front of her.

"It's late," she said quietly. "I'm going to bed."

A beat passed.

Then came the difficult part. Because she needed him there. Not romantically. Not sexually.

God.

Her fingers twisted together lightly in her lap.

"I need you in bed with me."

The words sounded **** the second they left her mouth.

Images flashed through her mind uninvited: his warmth beside her, his arm around her during the night, waking tangled together again. Each one sent little pulses of heat through her body despite her **** attempts not to react.

Evan swallowed visibly.

Stacy **** herself to keep going anyway.

"Can you get ready?" she asked softly.

Another pause.

Then, quieter still:

"Please?"