Lukas’s gaze sharpened at the phrase, his attention focusing with laser intensity on the interaction playing out in front of him. He’d called her that this morning, right before she’d lost her mind completely and begged him to keep going, to never stop, to give her everything she’d been wanting for years without knowing how to ask for it.
Mom reached out and tucked a strand of pink hair behind Sloane’s ear with surprising gentleness, her fingers warm against Sloane’s skin. The gesture was familiar from childhood but carried different weight now, loaded with implications that made Sloane’s chest tight. "You’re allowed to be nervous. You’re allowed to change your mind. But if you want to do this, then you need to trust that I’m not trying to take him away from you."
"You already did take him away from for two weeks." The words ca out sharper than intended, edged with pain that had been building since she’d walked into the kitchen and found them together.
"I know. And I’m sorry for that." Mom’s voice carried genuine regret, the professional composure finally cracking enough to let real emotion show through. "But that’s exactly why we need to do this differently going forward. No more secrets. No more competing. Just honest communication about what we all want and need."
Sloane’s throat felt tight, constricted by emotions she couldn’t quite na or organize. "What if what I want is for you to back off completely?"
"Then I will." Mom didn’t hesitate, the response coming imdiately and without qualification. "But I don’t think that’s actually what you want."
"How would you know what I want?" The question carried less heat than Sloane intended, sounding more curious than accusatory.
"Because you’re my daughter, sugar. I’ve known you since the day you were born. And I can see the way you’re looking at him right now even while you’re talking to ."
Sloane couldn’t help it. Her eyes slid sideways to where Lukas sat watching them both with an expression that looked sowhere between aroused and terrified, his usual composure completely abandoned in favor of naked attention. His hands gripped his knees hard enough to make his knuckles go white, and she could see the tension running through his shoulders and down his spine.
"He wants this," Mom said quietly, her voice pitched low enough that the words felt intimate despite everything else happening. "And so do I. And I think you do too, even if you’re not ready to admit it yet."
"I don’t want to share him." The words ca out rougher than Sloane intended, carrying the weight of years of possessiveness she’d never been able to articulate properly. "I want him to be mine. Just mine."
"I know." Mom’s hand moved to cup Sloane’s cheek, her palm warm and steady against skin that felt flushed and oversensitive. "But he’s not just yours anymore. He hasn’t been for two weeks. So now you get to decide whether you’d rather lose him completely or find a way to make this work."
The logic was airtight and manipulative as hell, but Sloane couldn’t find any flaws in the reasoning that would hold up under scrutiny. The choice really was that simple, stripped of all the emotional complexity and reduced to basic mathematics: share him or lose him entirely.
Sloane’s gaze drifted back to Lukas, taking in the way he looked like he wanted to say sothing but couldn’t figure out what words would actually help. His jaw worked like he was chewing on sentences and spitting them out before they reached his mouth, cycling through responses that all felt inadequate to the mont.
"Your room," Sloane heard herself say, the decision erging from so part of her that had been thinking while the rest of her mind reeled. "We use your room, Mom. Because mine still slls like this morning and I can’t... I can’t think straight in there right now."
Mom’s expression shifted into sothing that looked almost proud, carrying approval that felt both earned and overwhelming. "That works. Lukas?"
He nodded without speaking, his throat moving as he swallowed hard around whatever words he’d been preparing to say.
"Good." Mom stepped back from Sloane, creating space between them that felt both necessary and disappointing. "Then here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going upstairs. We’re going to take this slowly. And if at any point Sloane wants to stop, we stop. No questions. No guilt. Understood?"
"Understood," Lukas said imdiately, his voice carrying the weight of absolute commitnt.
Sloane just nodded because words felt impossible right now, her throat too tight to produce anything coherent.
Her mother turned toward the stairs with the kind of confidence that made it clear she’d already thought through every possible outco and decided this was the right move. Each step was asured and deliberate, carrying the authority of soone who had never learned to second-guess herself once a decision was made. Sloane followed because her body was moving on autopilot, her brain too overwheld to actually process what was happening beyond the basic chanics of putting one foot in front of the other.
Lukas brought up the rear, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors but sohow still audible in the silence that had settled over all of them. The sound felt significant, like the closing of a door or the turning of a key, marking the transition from conversation to action.
The walk upstairs felt longer than it should have, each step taking more effort than the last as the reality of what they were about to do settled over Sloane like a weight she wasn’t sure she could carry. Every step took her further from the theoretical and closer to the practical, from the negotiated boundaries to whatever would happen when those boundaries were tested against actual experience.
Her pulse hamred in her throat loud enough that she wondered if they could hear it, a rhythm that seed to echo off the walls and announce her nervousness to anyone paying attention.
Mom’s bedroom door stood open at the end of the hall, revealing the space Sloane had seen countless tis but never in this context. The afternoon light filtered through gauzy curtains, making everything look softer and more inviting than it usually did. The California king bed dominated the room with its perfectly made sheets and carefully arranged pillows, everything neat and organized because Mom never left anything disheveled.
Those sheets wouldn’t stay perfect for long.
The thought made Sloane’s stomach flip in a way that was equal parts anxiety and sothing she really didn’t want to examine too closely, sothing that felt dangerously close to anticipation.
Mom moved into the room first, toeing off her heels and setting them neatly by the closet with the sa precision she brought to everything else. She turned to face them both, leaning back against her dresser with casual grace that sohow made the whole situation feel less surreal and more manageable.
"Close the door, Lukas."
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