I blinked up at the ceiling, throat tightening.
It wasn’t just the orgasm — though, Jesus Christ,thathad been enough to put me in a different stratosphere. It was everything after. The way he’d carried me. Washed me. Dried my thighs like I was something fragile, something precious. That I wasallowedto be something worthy of gentleness. Not even myex-husbandhad ever —
And he hadn’t even asked for anything in return.
Hell, I’d teased him — aboutnotcoming, about how he’d already lost control once — and he’d justgrinned, tucked me into bed like I was something worth savoring, not conquering.
My thighs squeezed together on instinct. My body remembered him — the press of his lips, the way he’d mouthed my breast like it could anchor him to earth, the way he’dshakentrying not to come when I’d rolled my hips —
“Fuck,” I whispered into the empty room.
Sometime later, the door creaked.
I didn’t move.
There was no need to.
His footsteps were soft, but sure — the slow, grounded rhythmof a man who wasn’t rushing anything. Who knew exactly where he was going. Like he’d already decided he’d be ending this day with me in his arms.
A drawer opened. Water poured from the tap.
He was still taking care of me.
Something sharp and practically unnamable curled in my chest. A burning that I didn’twantto name. Not yet.
When the mattress dipped beside me, my body reacted before I did — rolling into the pull of him like a tide. Like my bones remembered the way they were supposed to rest.
“Hey,” he whispered, brushing hair from my cheek.
I didn’t answer. Just blinked at him. Because the way he looked at me…
That stupid, irredeemable man.
He looked like I’d wrecked him. Like he wasgrinningthrough it.
And then his hand smoothed along the curve of my hip, slow and reverent, as if it was a privilege just to touch me. His gaze swept over me like I were some miracle he hadn’t quite earned yet. Like he was afraid to blink and miss it. “You alright?” he murmured, voice low and warm.
My throat worked. “Yeah.”
“You need anything?”
“Just you.”
The words slipped out.
Simple. Honest. And only moderately terrifying.
His smile deepened. Not smug. Not cocky. It was warm. Grateful. Wrecked. “I’m here,” he said. And then hewas.
He shifted under the covers, one arm going beneath my neck, the other curling firmly around my waist — anchoring me.Like this washome.
He buried his nose in my hair, exhaled.
We didn’t speak.
His palm dragged up and down my spine, lazy and slow, like he could memorize me with touch alone. Like he had all day. Like there was nothing in the world more important than this moment, this skin, this quiet.
I blinked hard. I couldn’t say what I was thinking — not yet. But I held onto him like I meant it. Let myself sink against his chest. Let my cheek rest over his heart.
