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"Then you should probably keep your hands to yourself, buddy." It's not a suggestion; it's a command from Blaze, delivered with the cold finality of a judge passing a sentence.
"Listen, we were just—" the guy starts, but Blaze cuts him off.
"Did I stutter? She said no. What part of that are you having trouble understanding?"
"Alright, alright, I get it," the guy concedes, rising from his seat, a cocktail of embarrassment and resentment brewing in his expression.
"Good," Blaze says, watching him go, ensuring he leaves before turning to me with concern softening the hard lines of his face. "Are you okay, Nova?"
My heart pounds against my ribcage like a trapped bird longing for the safety of its cage. Blaze is the sturdy bars, the shelter I didn't realize I was seeking. In his gaze, I find reassurance. In his proximity, sanctuary. His protective nature wraps around me, a shield against the predation of men who confuse fear for flirtation.
"Thank you, Blaze," I manage, my words tangled with gratitude and the blossoming realization of how much more he means to me than just a friend, how deeply his sudden appearance has affected the rhythm of my pulse, the cadence of my desires.
"Always, Nova." His promise is a vow, spoken in the language of shared glances and unspoken understandings, a contract signed in the ink of his tattoos, sealed with the heat of his protective embrace.
My breath hitches as he turns to me, his dark eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress. "Seriously, are you okay?" Blaze asks again, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air and settle in my bones.
"More than okay, thanks to you." I swallow hard, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. A cocktail of fear and relief makes my hands shake, but his presence is like gravity, pulling me back down to solid ground. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up."
"Let's get out of here," he suggests, his hand hovering near my elbow, ready to guide but not to push—a perfect gentleman cloaked in the guise of a rebel.
We weave through the crowd, leaving the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversations behind. The cool night air greets us like a whisper, and I take a deep breath, tasting freedom. We find ourselves in a dimly lit corner of the garden adjoining the event venue, cloistered by blossoming hedges and the night's embrace until we finally walk back to his place.
"Better?" he inquires, his gaze never leaving mine.
"Much." The word is barely a sigh, a confession wrapped in moonlight. My heart stammers its approval as he leans against the stone balustrade, arms folded across his chest, every inch the protector. "You always show up when I need you the most, Blaze. It's like you're tuned into some distress signal only you can hear."
"Maybe I am," he chuckles softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves around us. "Or maybe I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you."
His admission sends a shiver down my spine, an acknowledgement of the tether between us, invisible but iron-strong. He sees me—not the curated image I project to the world, but the real, flesh-and-blood Nova who craves connection as much as she fears it.
"Blaze, I—" Words fail me, emotions congealing into something thick and warm in my throat. Instead, I step closer, close enough to see the reflection of starlight in his eyes, to feel the thrum of his pulse beneath the surface of his inked skin.
"Nova, you don't have to say anything." His voice is a caress, the timbre wrapping around me like a protective cloak.
But I want to. I want to tell him everything—how his fierce loyalty ignites something primal within me, how the edges of my longing are sharp and dangerous, threatening to cut anyone who dares to come too close. Except him. Blaze could walk through the fire of my affections unscathed, forged as he is from the same flames.
"Thank you isn't enough. You've always been there right when I need you. I'm starting to think..." I trail off, daring to bridge the gap between us with a touch, my fingertips grazing the rough fabric of his shirt.
"Starting to think what?" His eyebrow arches, a silent invitation to confess.
"That maybe there's no such thing as coincidence. Maybe it's just fate disguising itself as chance." My words hang between us, laden with implication and the weight of unsaid promises.
"Maybe," he agrees, his hand capturing mine, heat transferring from his skin to mine, igniting a spark that threatens to burst into wildfire. "Or maybe we make our own fate, Nova."
"Then let's make it a good one." I lean into him, surrendering to the pull of his gravitational field, to the chaos and calm that coexist within the tempest of our intertwined souls.
The shadows of the room seem to ebb away as Blaze's presence fills every inch of the intimate space. His eyes, a stormy gray, lock with mine, and in them, I see something that sends my heart careening against my ribcage—desire, raw and undeniable.
"Nova," he breathes out, and his voice is a low growl that vibrates through me, "are you okay?"
"More than okay," I murmur, my pulse quickening at the proximity of his body to mine. Our refuge from the world outside feels like a cocoon, spun from the silk of our unspoken needs.
"Because back there... I could have lost it when he touched you." The tension in his jaw tells me how close he was to breaking, how fiercely his instinct to protect me burns within him.
I lace my fingers through his, feeling the callouses on his palms, the physical testament to his life lived boldly. "You didn't though. You kept your cool for me."
His other hand brushes a stray lock of hair from my forehead, fingertips tracing the shell of my ear before drifting down, igniting a trail of fire along my neck. "For you, Nova, I'd wage wars."
