Page 76 of Claimed By Ruin

Asia

I let him hold me in a way no one ever had.

Didn’t try to hide what I never wanted anyone else to see.

Just stayed there in Jack’s arms, my tears wetting his shirt, his hand at the nape of my neck.

Not stroking, just resting there, calm, soothing.

Present.

He was here.

Jack was here.

And that was enough.

I had no idea how long we stayed on the floor, long enough that his shirt dried and my head pounded.

Long enough that embarrassment tried to sink in.

I refused to let it.

Instead I met his eyes, letting him see the dried tears on my cheeks, eyes that I knew were puffy, pain so deep I couldn’t hide it. Hope too. The worst thing of all.

He saw it all, taking it in. Stood and then pulled me up from the floor with him.

He led me over to the bed and pushed me down. Undressed me.

I teared up again, shocked I still had any left to fall.

I did and I let the tear roll down my cheek as Jack unbuttoned the pale blue pinstriped men’s shirt I sometimes wore. He peeled it off my shoulders and left me bare.

Another tear fell as I watched Jack line my boots up with the edge of the bed and then neatly fold my pants and that stupid shirt and carefully stack them on top.

He undressed then and walked towards me. He pulled me off the bed and pulled the covers back.

It was Jack who made the bed. He did it every morning. I thought it was stupid, snapped at him once for wasting time making the bed when there were endless chores. If anything, he took even more time with it, those perfectly mitered corners at a crisp forty-five degree angle that was sharp enough to cut skin.

He lay me down and then crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around me.

The bed was too small, his body was too hot, and I was too wiped out to care. I let myself relax in his embrace, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Jack was still behind me when I woke up, his even breaths, the warmth of his skin against mine enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth I never wanted to leave. I turned to lie flat on my back. Jack stayed on his side, staring down at me.

I grazed his stubble-roughened jaw, rubbing my thumb against his cheek. Jack grabbed my wrist and then turned his head and pressed a soft kiss against my palm.

I shifted until I was under him, my eyes still on his.

The moment stretched, seconds ticking by. I stretched up and pressed my lips against his chin, his bottom lip, his top lip.

Pressed my forehead against his before pulling back an increment.

“Make love to me, Jack. Please.”

It occurred to me that I’d just asked something of him. Maybe the first thing I had since he’d come back.

“Always,” he whispered in response before he molded his lips against mine and kissed me.