He sits on the edge of the bed, careful to give me space. The silence between us is comfortable, easy.
“You're not hurt?"
I shake my head. "No. Are you? Your side..."
He touches the dressing absently. "It's fine. I told you. A little strain."
"Liar," I say, but there's no heat in it.
His smile fades, replaced by a thoughtful expression. He's watching me, a strange intensity in his gaze. As if he's trying to figure something out. As if he's seeing me for the first time.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious. I tuck my hair behind my ear, though I'm sure it does nothing to improve it. "Do I have... something on my face?"
He reaches out and gently traces the line of my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. The touch is electric.
"No," he says, his voice low and rough. "You're just... perfect."
My heart stumbles, then starts to beat double-time.
I want to believe him. I want to believe that this man, this soldier, this dangerous, beautiful man, sees me and thinks "perfect."
But it's hard.
I've spent my entire life being judged. By my father, by my brothers, by society. I'm always too much, or not enough. Too smart, too independent, too stubborn. Too pretty or not pretty enough. Too much of a woman for a man, but not enough to be trusted with a man's world.
I've never been just... right.
It's exhausting.
And here he is, looking at me like I'm some kind of goddess.
It's overwhelming.
Perfect is not a word that has ever been used to describe me.
I look away, unable to hold his intense gaze.
"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "Look at me."
I hesitate, then meet his eyes.
"I mean it, Caterina," he says, his thumb still stroking my cheek. "I've never seen anything like you."
My throat feels tight. I can't speak.
He leans in and gives me a soft, sweet kiss. A kiss that says more than words ever could. A kiss that's full of a tenderness I didn't know he was capable of.
I lean in, my body melting helplessly into his. I want to crawl inside him and live there, in this safe, warm place where I am perfect.
His tongue traces my lips. Despite everything that just happened between us: me walking into his room and dropping my robe, sucking his cock, literally riding his face, having soul-altering sex with him... Despite all that, he's still asking permission to take it further.
My heart—my poor defenseless heart—stutters and falls for him. Falls right here and now for this dangerous, complicated, wounded man.
I open my mouth to him, helpless to do anything else. His tongue sweeps in, and I am lost again, in this perfect, beautiful storm.
He is kissing me like I am a treasure he has just discovered, a precious, fragile thing he is afraid of breaking.
I want to be his treasure.
