The desire doesn’t crash into me like a wrecking ball but builds like a slow-burning ache somewhere deep within. The way he handles me with such tenderness, like I’m a precious artifact, makes my bones, my very being ache.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” His words are mumbled against my skin, praising and reverent, and they land somewhere deep in the recesses of my heart. I’m not scoring goals. I’m not acing a test. Hell, I’m lying here damaged, still bruised and broken, and yet, he still wants me.
That hits in a way I never realized I needed it to. It hits in a way that whispersforever. And where that word once terrified me, now I want to run toward it. He isn’t leading me, not dominating. He’s listening to my body, learning, taking his time to find out what makes me moan.
I’m so fucking hard I’m leaking precum into my pj pants. Literally nothing is hotter than a man taking his time, learningwhat kisses make you whimper, and stoking the fire in your body with a precision poker.
My body remembers pain faster than pleasure lately, but he’s rewriting that map kiss by heartachingly tender kiss. I can’t take it anymore. My skin is hot, the need urgent and deep, and I want him to poke me with his fucking poker. “Arte.” It’s embarrassing how needy the word sounds when it tumbles from my lips.
“Shhhh.Duende.Not yet, let me worship you.” His lips sear a brand on my neck as he talks.
“Okay.” I’m practically panting, my hips jerking seeking contact, friction,somethingto help the need that’s now progressed from a simmer to an aggressively, bubbling boil. “But… I need you… please?”
His deep chuckle amps up my frustration, driving my need from irritating to consuming. As though he knows I’m about to explode, or do the damn job myself, he cups my crotch, grinding the heel of his palm against my weeping dick.
My hips roll to meet him, gathering speed as the blissful warmth of friction spreads through my body. “I’m…” Fuck. I’m close. I tip my head back, letting my eyes drift shut as release builds in my balls. It hits me then—maybe he isn’t careful because I’m fragile. He’s careful because I matter.
My release catches us both off guard. As I fill my pj pants, my hips snap, jerking me forward, and my forehead collides with his.
“Fuck.” The sting of pain radiates behind my forehead, and when my eyes snap open, his fear-filled browns meet mine.
With my good hand, I grab him into a kiss, it’s deep, it’s passionate, and his body instantly relaxes, kissing me back.
My body’s boneless, oversensitive, my head still buzzing from the sting and the release. Artemis doesn’t rush me, he doesn’t scold, doesn’t panic. He just cups the back of my neckand presses his forehead to mine like we’re calibrating to the same… everything.
“There you are.” Notare you okay? Notbe carefulorwatch what you’re doing. Just…there you are.
Something in my chest cracks wide open. Even wrecked, even bruised, even leaking into my PJs like a messy fucking disaster—I’m still wanted. Not tolerated, not managed, but fuckingchosenby one of the best men I know.
I don’t know what the hell to do with that kind of tenderness, so I do the only thing I can. I kiss him back, slow and deep. If this is what being held looks like, maybe I don’t need to know who I am yet. Maybe it’s more than enough to know I’m safe while I take the time to figure it out.
CHAPTER 54
Artemis
(ONE WEEK LATER)
He looks like a chaos goblin even in his sleep.
A week ago, my chest still felt like it was caving in on itself, every decision another fire to put out. Now—just watching him breathe—I can finally tell the difference between urgency and background noise.
He’s cuddling a pillow so tightly it makes me grateful that it’s not my head he’s got his arm wrapped around. I’m not sure I’d wake up from sleep if it was.
It’s funny, now that I’ve stopped trying to fight all the fires in my life, everything has come into a sharp focus, decisions are being made with ease, and for the first time in a long time, my clenched jaw isn’t giving me a headache.
Sleeping Beauty is largely to blame. His chaos, his warmth, the lighthouse he has become over the last couple weeks is the anchor I didn’t know I needed. While I was chasing things in all directions, what I needed wasn’t in fact a what, but a who.
“You know watching people sleep is creepy, right?” His mumbled voice is adorable. And teasing seems to be becoming our love language.
“If I climbed into bed with you, I wouldn’t be watching anything other than your cum coating the bed.”
That wakes him up fully. “Why is that not happening right now?” He swings the quilt back then pats the bed with a firm hand.
I can’t help it, the man makes me laugh with his openness. “Company is coming.”
He groans, then speaks directly to his rock-hard cock tenting his PJ pants. “Maybe we should text his sister to wait an hour before she arrives.”
I open my mouth to reply, but a sharp knock on the front door precedes my sister’s voice piercing the air. “We’re here. Put your dicks away.”
