It felt likehim.
And I was sitting in the middle of it—in his bed with his heat still lingering in the space beside me.
I sat there for one more second, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. A quiet, involuntary hum slipped out of me as my toes pressed into the carpet, testing it, dragging slightly just to feel it again.
The room shifted with me as I stood, my gaze moving without any real plan, catching on things as I—oh.
Crushed on the floor near the bed, dark fabric twisted in on itself like it had been pulled off without much thought.
His shirt
I didn’t overanalyze or do the thing where I stood there and made it weird.
I bent, grabbed it, and tugged it over my head in one smooth motion.
The fabric settled around me, warm where my skin still held heat and cooler everywhere else. It fell low and swallowed my frame in a way that made it obvious it didn’t belong to me.
I shoved my glasses higher up my nose and turned toward the door, stepping out into the hallway without looking back.
The house opened up in front of me, morning light stretching through it.
I moved slowly at first, bare feet dragging against the floor, attention snagging on details I hadn’t noticed the night before.
And then?—
Coffee.
A small grin pulled at my mouth as I followed the smell, taking the stairs one by one.
The kitchen came into view as I rounded the corner. Henry was there, leaning back against the marble counter, one hand braced behind him while the other was wrapped around a mug of coffee.
Shirtless in some low riding sweats, the sight was just enough to make my brain stall for a second before catching up.
His hair was a mess, and I had the sudden, disorienting thought that I’d never seen him like that anywhere else.
Only with me.
There was something in him that didn’t stay buried when I was around. Standing there looking at him, I felt it.
Andyeah.
I liked it.
His eyes found mine over the rim of the mug, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a smile that had my thighs pressing together.
Something in his gaze grew hungry, throat working as he took me in—standing there barefoot in his kitchen, his clothes covering my body.
In that moment, I felt every bit like a Rabbit.
Not soft.
Not harmless.
Just something smaller caught in the face of something bigger, steadier, and patient enough not to rush.
Prey to a man who didn’t need to chase.
“Put that down.” I cleared my throat. “Your coffee cup.”
