Page 67
“How do you know there was blood?”
“Damage you couldn’t heal for days—that means blood.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Was it the same every time?”
“No.”
“Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
He grunted in agreement.
“May I get closer?”
“If you want.”
Interesting. Sex he could do, sex he was ready for. But closeness was different.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
If he let me give him comfort, then perhaps we were in a good place. More intimate, closer than he was with others. I would know him best eventually, and while that was exactly what a true mate was for, to be part of his soul, he wasn’t sure he was ready. “Who have you told about what your father did?”
“Only you,” he choked out, “just now.”
That meant even Gigi, who knew and loved him, didn’t know about the abuse.
“Have you decided?”
“What?”
“Would you prefer I stayed on my side of the bed?”
“No. I’d prefer you closer,” he answered in a near whisper.
I sighed deeply, then slipped my hand under his, then my arm as I pressed my T-shirt-covered chest to his bare back. I curled my arm tight around him, my hand gently lying on his right pec as I nuzzled my face into the hair at his nape.
“You should go to sleep,” he murmured.
“I am. You’re keeping me up.”
“No. There’s no way you can sleep like this.”
“Sleep like what?” I asked, slipping my leg over his thigh.
“All wrapped around me.”
“It sounds like it’s you who can’t—”
He rolled over fast. One moment I was spooning him, and the next, my head was on his chest and his cheek was in my hair.
“If you need me to let you—”
“No,” I said with a yawn, my body coiled around his. “I’m good.”
He was quiet, but I could tell from his breathing and the beat of his heart that he was awake.
