But this feeling of completion. Satisfaction. This is new.
Nora is curled against me, her breathing soft and even. Her face is relaxed in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen up close before. In sleep, she looks younger. Softer. Untouched by everything waiting outside these walls.
My chest tightens at the sight. She shouldn’t be here. She deserves something normal. Someone normal. A man who notices smiles before he notices exits. Someone who reaches for words before violence.
Not me.
Yet, my hand moves before I can stop it. Brushing lightly over her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. She stirs slightly, shifting closer without waking, like her body already recognizes mine.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand over my face as I stare up at the ceiling. She’s here.Mine.
I shut that thought down immediately, my jaw tightening. She’s not mine. She’s under my protection. That’s it. But even as I tell myself that, I know the line is blurred in ways beyond my control. My gaze shifts back to her, to the way she’s pressed against me like she belongs there. Like she fits.
And that’s the problem. I don’t deserve something that fits. I don’t get to keep things like that. So, why the hell can’t I walk away? The answer is right in front of me.
Because I don’t want to.
The realization settles in heavy and undeniable, cutting through every excuse I’ve been telling myself. This isn’t about logic anymore. It’s not about what makes sense or what’s right. It’s about want.
I’ve never been good at denying myself. Especially when it comes to things I’ve already decided are mine to take. My hand finds her again, this time more deliberate. I pull her closer. She stirs, a soft sound leaving her lips as her eyes begin to flutter.
“Hi,” she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep.
My chest tightens again. “Morning,” I reply quietly, my voice rougher than I intended.
Her lips curve into a small smile as she blinks up at me, still half-asleep. “How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough.”
She hums softly, shifting closer, her hand resting lightly against my chest. “Creepy.”
I almost smile. “Habit,” I say instead.
I don’t give myself time to think about it too much before I lean down, closing the distance between us. The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens quickly, taking on a life of its own. She responds instantly, moaning low in her throat. Her hand digs into my chest as she burrows into me.
There’s nothing hesitant about us this time. No uncertainty. Just heat. Just want. I shift over her slightly, my hand sliding down to her waist as the kiss deepens. My focus narrows to just her. Her moans. The way she feels under me.
For a moment, everything else disappears. The contract. The threat. The reality waiting outside this room. All of it fades. Until it doesn’t.
I pull back just enough to look at her, my breathing uneven, my thoughts trying to catch up again.
“You’ve got work,” I say, my voice lower now, rough with need.
She blinks up at me, clearly not expecting that shift. “What?”
“Your shift,” I repeat, forcing some control back into my tone. “You should go.”
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to argue, then she frowns just a little. “Or…I could not go.”
I raise an eyebrow. She smiles in response, her hand sliding up to rest against my jaw. “I could take the day off. Stay here.”
The idea hits harder than it should. Too tempting. Too easy.
“No,” I say, even though part of me wants to say yes.
Her expression shifts, a small pout forming. “No?”
“You going in keeps things normal,” I explain, my voice steadier now. “Whoever’s behind this expects routine. You disappear, and it raises questions.”
