Scar’s resolve didn't just break; it shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. His hands, once hesitant, became possessive, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising force as he hauled you flush against him. The friction of your bodies was like a match struck in a room full of gasoline.

"You asked for this, little lamb," he growled, his voice a dark, gravelly vibration that sent a fresh wave of heat through your lower stomach. "Don't you dare try to take it back now."

He didn't give you a chance to answer. He claimed your mouth in a kiss that tasted of iron and desperation, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands worked with a frantic, expert speed to rid you of the clothes that felt like lead against your skin. You were a mess of needy whimpers and clumsy fingers, pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his bare chest against your own.

When his skin finally met yours, the Resonance Sync hit a fever pitch. A localized distortion field hummed around the sofa, crimson static flickering in the air like dying stars. You gasped into his mouth, your back arching as your resonance mark began to glow with a blinding, violent intensity.

"Scar... please," you choked out, your nails dragging down his back, leaving red tracks in their wake.

He moved between your legs, his weight a heavy, welcome pressure that grounded you even as the world spun. He paused for only a heartbeat, his yellow eyes burning into yours with a terrifying, raw honesty. He looked like a man who had finally found water in a desert, and he intended to drink until he drowned.

"Look at me," he commanded, his thumb hooking under your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his blown-out, golden pupils. "I want you to see exactly who is breaking you."

As he pushed into you, filling you in one slow, agonizingly perfect motion, the air was punched out of your lungs. It was too much—the alcohol, the eight years of repressed longing, and the sheer power of his frequency merging with yours. You cried out, your head tossing back against the cushions as your body tightened around him, a pulsing, rhythmic ache starting at your core and radiating outward.

Scar let out a low, guttural groan, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he began to move. Every thrust was a deliberate, bruising claim, a physical manifestation of his promise to never let you go. The sync was so loud now it was a physical roar in your ears, your heartbeat and his merging into a single, frantic rhythm.

Your fingers dug into his hair, pulling him down as you chased the friction. Your breath came in shallow hitches, your vision blurring as the pleasure built, thick and heavy. Every time he hit that specific spot deep inside you, your resonance mark sparked, sending a literal jolt of electricity through both of your nervous systems.

"You’re... so tight," Scar rasped, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. "Eight years... and I’m the only one who gets to feel this. Tell me. Tell me I'm the only one."

"Only you," you sobbed, your hips rising to meet him, begging for more. "Always... only you."

You were drowning in him—in the scent of his skin, the strength of his grip, and the way his voice broke into a desperate prayer every time he whispered your name. You clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a collapsing universe, your legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper, needing to be closer, needing to disappear into him entirely.