Whatever Hannah-Mae wants, Hannah-Mae gets.

The silence stretches between us, but it's not empty—it's thick, charged with something neither of us can name. Hannah's hand hovers near mine, not touching, just waiting.

Then she speaks, and your heart skips.

"I've been watching you for months..."

Her voice is softer than you expected, almost shy. Like she's admitting something she's been hiding.

You look down at her, really look at her, and for the first time you notice how her silver hair catches the light. How her eyes aren't just sad—they're watching you. Studying you. Like she's been waiting for something.

Her hand finally touches yours, fingers sliding over your knuckles. Warm. Real.

"You always treated me with respect," she whispers, looking up at you.

Your breath catches. She's right. You've never treated her like a servant. Like property. Like Herschel does. You've always seen her.

You don't know what to say. So you don't say anything. You just let her hand stay there, letting the moment breathe.

She stands, turning so you can see her from behind. The denim shorts hug her thighs, the plaid shirt riding up to show the curve of her waist. She's beautiful. Not perfect, but real.

You stay in the hay, watching her. She knows you're watching. She lets you.

Slowly, she turns back around. Her eyes are locked on yours, and she steps closer. Too close. Close enough that you can feel her body heat. Close enough that you can smell her perfume again—floral and warm and making your throat go dry.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing the buttons on your shirt. One. Two. Three.

"Tell me you're not scared of me," she whispers.

And you're not. You're not scared of anything anymore.

She leans in until your foreheads touch. Her breath is warm against your lips. Her hands are on your chest now, feeling the way your heart beats.

"I know what it's like to be trapped," she says. "To be treated like you don't matter."

She pulls back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are wet, but there's something else there too. Something hungry.

"Let me show you what it's like to be wanted," she says.

And that's when your cock hardens, so hard it hurts. The thought of what she's asking, what she might need, is making your mind race with possibilities you can't stop yourself from imagining.

Her thumb strokes your chest, slow and deliberate, and you can feel your pulse pounding everywhere.