“Whatever you want to do..."

The conversation about protection lingered between us even after we got out of bed.

We moved around each other in the kitchen, making coffee and toast like it was any other morning, but the air felt thicker. Neither of us had wanted to kill the mood the night before, and now that it was out in the open, it sat there between us — real and slightly awkward.

Veronica leaned against the counter in just my t-shirt, sipping her coffee. She looked at me over the rim of the mug.

“I meant what I said,” she told me. “I’m clean. You’re clean. But I’m not on anything right now.”

I nodded, stepping closer until I could rest my hands on her hips.

“We’ll sort it,” I said. “Whatever you want to do. I’ll go with you if you want to get on something. Or we can just… be careful until then.”

She set her mug down and looked up at me. Something shifted in her expression — softer, but also hungrier.

“I don’t want to be careful right now,” she said quietly.

Before I could answer, she reached up and pulled me down into a kiss. It started slow but quickly turned heated. Her hands slid under my shirt, nails dragging lightly over my stomach. I backed her up against the counter, lifting her onto it so I could step between her thighs.

We didn’t make it back to the bedroom.

I pulled the t-shirt off over her head and dropped it on the floor. She was bare underneath. I ran my hands over her breasts, down her waist, gripping her hips as I kissed down her neck. She let out a soft sound and wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer.

“Tom,” she breathed against my ear. “I want you inside me.”

I groaned and freed myself from my sweats, already hard. She reached down and guided me to her entrance, already wet. I pushed in slowly, watching her face as I filled her. She was tight and hot and perfect.

We moved together on the counter — not rushed, but deep. Her arms were around my neck, forehead pressed to mine as I thrust into her. Every sound she made went straight through me.

Then she pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark and glassy.

“Fill me up,” she whispered.

I faltered for a second, hips stuttering.

“What?”

Veronica’s hands tightened on my shoulders. She rolled her hips down to meet me, taking me deeper.

“I want you to come inside me,” she said, voice low and desperate. “Please. I want to feel it. I want you to fill me up.”

I was surprised — we’d literally just talked about her not being on anything — but the way she said it, the way she was looking at me like she needed it, made something in my brain short-circuit.

I didn’t say no.

I gripped her hips harder and started fucking her with more purpose, driving into her while she clung to me and moaned against my neck. She kept whispering it between kisses — fill me up, please, I want it — until I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I came deep inside her with a low groan, burying myself to the hilt as I pulsed. Veronica held me there, legs locked around my waist, breathing hard against my shoulder.

We stayed like that for a long minute, both of us catching our breath.

Eventually she let out a soft, slightly shaky laugh.

“…We’re really bad at being responsible,” she mumbled.

I huffed out a laugh against her neck, still inside her.

“Yeah,” I said. “We are.”

She pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes warm and a little shy now that the heat had passed.

“I trust you,” she said quietly. “That’s why I said it. I just… wanted to feel it. With you.”

I cupped her face and kissed her, slow and deep.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured against her lips. “Whatever happens. I’ve got you.”

She smiled and rested her forehead against mine.

A few days later, things had started to feel almost normal again — or at least our new version of normal.

Veronica was streaming most nights. The sponsorship offers were still coming in. And then Marcus reached out again.

This time his message was longer, more direct. He’d seen the selfie she posted. He said it changed things for him — in a good way. It showed authenticity. It showed that she wasn’t just chasing clicks. He believed she had serious long-term potential and wanted to sit down and talk properly about representation.

Veronica showed me the message while we were having coffee.

She looked at me over her phone, expression thoughtful.

“He wants to meet,” she said. “Properly this time. He’s pushing harder now that we’re public.”

I leaned against the counter, thinking it over.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a second.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “Part of me thinks it could be good. Someone who actually knows what they’re doing, who can help me navigate all of this without getting screwed over. But it also means more meetings. More decisions. More of our life being… out there.”

She looked up at me.

“I want you there for the conversations that actually matter,” she said. “If I do this. I don’t want to make these calls without you.”

I nodded.

“Then I’ll be there,” I said simply.

Veronica smiled — small, but real — and set her phone down.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll set up the meeting.”

She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her head against my chest.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” I said, holding her tighter. “We are.”