Page 480 of Coal Hearts

I relaxed into it.

My body floated down and down, spiralling deeper and deeper until I hit a shadowy, silky bottom.

Sleep cloyed at my eyelashes, sudden and immense, making me smile with relief.

Sleep was better. So, so much better than lust.

“That’s it, just...relax,” Henri whispered.

I sighed as something comforting soaked into my skin. The barest-there strokes. The gentlest touch. The way he touched me reminded me how Krish would hold his drink at dinner if Mum forgot and gave him a glass cup instead of his preferred plastic one.

He’d hold it as if he’d break it just by breathing.

He’d cradle it as if it were the most precious, wonderous thing. Nothing else existed for him. Just him and that cup—half terrified of breaking it, half mystified by its fragility.

That’s how Henri’s touching me.

Like I’m a cup.

I giggled for no apparent reason.

“Jesus, that stuff is strong,” he muttered under his breath. His fingers traced over my ribs, adding a thick layer of cream.

My entire body turned ticklish.

My giggle became a laugh. “Stop. God, stop!”

“Fuck.” Ripping his hands off me, he shook the bed with his horror. “I didn’t mean...” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. God, I’m—”

“For what?” I frowned.

“For hurting you.”

“Hurting me?” I shrugged. “No, you tickled me.”

That seemed to make him worse.

His face flushed.

His pulse pounded in his neck.

He spiralled; I reached for him. “Hey...it’s okay. Talk to me...”

Swallowing a groan, he leapt to his bare feet.

He paced and refused to look at me.

I’d felt many things for this man. Most of them were not very nice, and some far, far too intense, but in that moment, all I felt was panic.

The stranger from the cave kept smothering the man who’d asked me to play along with him. The man from the bar who’d made my very soul shiver drowned beneath a blackened murderer. “Henri...”

“Don’t,” he hissed.

“What’s happened—?”

“Be quiet.” He raked a hand through his hair, unable to hide his shaking. With effort that etched his eyes with stress lines, he sat back down and painted another bruise on my hip.

He kept his eyes trained on my injuries. Lips pursed. Chest heaving. His insides screaming so loudly he deafened me.