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But I’m not.
I have no space in my body to feel any sort of shame or embarrassment. All my tiny spaces have been filled to the brim by relief and his warmth.
So I rub my nose in his throat — it’s hot and stubbled — as I whisper, “Yes. Because I’ve always wondered about your throat.”
“You’ve always wondered about my throat.”
“Yes. How it smells.”
“How it smells.”
“Yeah. If your scent is thicker here. Your scent of leather and cigar smoke.”
“My scent of leather and cigar smoke.”
“You’re repeating everything I’m saying again.”
“Because you’re saying such logical things.”
I give him a small smile and he stiffens but I don’t care.
I even go so far as to put my cheek on his chest and sigh again.
He shifts under me. “I’m going to send Mo in and she can —”
I snap my eyes up, protesting, “No, don’t.” His scruffy jaw clenches and I clutch his hair. “Don’t go anywhere.” Then, in a whisper, “Please.”
His response is to clench his jaw harder for a few seconds and breathe out as if giving in.
Which makes me relax that he’s going to stay, but now that he is, there’s something else that I need to think about.
“Did Mo call you?” I ask, my heart starting to race for a different reason now than the nightmare. “I-I mean, about the fact that I was — am — at the mansion.”
Where I shouldn’t be in the first place.
I know it. He knows it.
When I snuck out, I knew I was taking a huge risk. I knew that he was already mad at me — beyond mad — for what I’d done in his office and so I was aware that this might send him over the edge.
But I had to be here and so I guess the time has come to face it, face his wrath.
Which actually is already showing on his features, tightening them up, clenching things, making them go harsh.
Even his voice is tight when he replies, “Yes.”
My heart pounds harder.
Because sneaking out is the lesser of my crimes right now.
I have done something else as well. Something worse.
That he’s absolutely not going to be happy about.
But I have to tell him so I do.
And I do it without looking away from him. Without hiding or closing up.
“I know that I never should’ve…” I swallow, my fists in his hair getting tighter, “snuck out of school. But I did and… it’s okay if you wanna punish me for it. But I guess you should also know that I did something else too. Something that’s far worse and I don’t know if Mo told you but I —”
“She did.”
I wince slightly, my limbs flexing around his body.
“Oh. I want… I want you to know that it’s o-over.” I have to take a deep breath here. “Between him and me, and I know that I’ve lied about that before. Two times. But I’m not lying now and again, it’s okay if you wanna punish me for that as well. I-I realize —”
“What did he do?” he growls, cutting me off.
I have to blink.
First, because I wasn’t expecting that question.
And second, because a moment ago his eyes were liquid brown, like melting chocolate chips, but now they’ve gone dark. They’ve turned into hard diamonds in a split second.
Which somehow makes me realize something else.
Something obvious that my sleepy, overwhelmed brain had been blocking up until now.
So I guess three things then, and the third one is the most important one. And it’s the fact that I’ve suddenly solved the mystery as to why my body felt like it was being squeezed at times and why I felt like my hair was being tugged and pulled on.
It’s because it was.
By him.
It’s because I’m not the only one who’s holding on to him. He’s holding on to me as well.
His arms are wrapped around me, around my body, and he’s keeping me in place. He’s anchoring me in his lap with one hand cradling the back of my head, his fingers buried in my thick hair. And his other hand is splayed wide on my spine.
I guess it should’ve been obvious that he’s holding me — I mean, I’m sitting in his lap; of course he’s got his arms around me — but it wasn’t.
Not until he asked me that growly question and his eyes turned dark.
And they’re not dark with rage at me but with something else.
Something else like protectiveness.
This is protection, I realize.
This is what it feels like to be safe. To be tethered and grounded.
A comfortable lap to sit on, a powerful body to wind my limbs around and a pair of muscular arms holding me tight. So tight that every inch of my body is touching his. Every curve of my body has a place on his body to rest against, my breasts to his ribs, my thighs around his slim waist.
