When we wake up in the morning—or sometimes in the middle of the night—we slot together like pure instinct. I have to bite his hand to keep myself from making too much noise when he makes me explode.
It’s almost weird, in a way, having this illicit relationship when I’m already living with him. Kit’s becoming like the little sister I never had.
And Holden—
God, Holden.
“Something on your mind?” he asks me one night after he’s pulled out of me, slow and dreamy, still holding my head in his hands and muffling my moans with his mouth.
“What makes you think that?”
“You’re always thinking, Clee. Only time that pretty head shuts off is when I keep you preoccupied.”
I laugh and kiss his shoulder.
It’s so easy, this affection, like we’ve been doing it half our lives. Being with him feels so natural, I can hardly remember a time when I hated him. How is it possible?
“No, that’s you,” I tease back. “You’re the one with the dominant broody gene.”
He scowls, but I see the corner of his lips turn up.
He loves to pretend he’s the grumpiest bear alive, but I know better. After this closeness, I see right through him, and even that big chest seems paper thin.
No more tinman. There’s a beating heart in there after all, strong and kind and real.
“You really want to know?” I duck my head as he nods. “I was just thinking how much I like this,” I admit. “Having to be quiet, figuring things out so Kit doesn’t notice.”
His hand curls around my elbow, idly stroking my skin.
“You like that?” His voice drops lower.
“You don’t?”
“Never said that.”
I lean in and kiss his neck, inhaling that subtle woodsy scent he wears like a second shadow. It’s somaleit makes my stomach twitch with butterflies.
“There are a lot of things about this I like,” I mutter. “Too many to count, probably.”
“Show me.” His hand catches my hip. His eyes lock with mine as he guides me on top, straddling him.
We go slowly at first, like we’re the only two people in the world who matter, and it feels divine.
Our own little magic place.
But even when we blow apart and settle again in each other’s arms, the Hera Egg looms in the back of my mind like a spider you glimpse once but can’t find again.
It’s tucked away in a reinforced safe buried in Holden’s closet, the safest place in the house. But I can’t help thinking about the men who broke in and exiled us from Gramps’ house.
Did they just give up that easily?
Can everything simply bethisgood after something so awful?
I don’t believe in lucky streaks. Blame it on how I grew up.
Nothing good in life ever comes free.
My cousin Ethan went back to check on the house with Holden last week. There’s no sign of any new disturbances. They beefed up the system with police patrols and an additional security guy on-site making the rounds. They know Holden keeps a watch over the cameras as well, just in case, and it’s been over a week with nothing else.
