She didn’t say anything.She didn’t have to.It was in the sudden stiffness of her spine, the way her fingers stilled against his chest.Her gaze drifted away, unfocused, as if retreating inward.
But he wasn’t going to let her run—not emotionally, not physically—not this time.
What they’d shared hadn’t just been incredible—it had been raw, electric, and intimate in a way that knocked the air out of him.His thoughts were still hazy, still tangled in the scent of her skin and the heat of her touch.His face was nestled against the curve of her neck, and he began to kiss her again.First gently—reverent little brushes against her damp skin—but soon his mouth lingered, coaxing her back to him with each pass.
He felt her begin to relax, the tightness in her body melting just a little as her thigh brushed along his hip in a slow, unconscious caress.
“Have you stopped?”he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, lips teasing her earlobe.
“Stopped?”she echoed, her voice soft, drowsy, but wary.
“Stopped regretting making love with me,” he clarified, tracing a path along her shoulder with his mouth.“Stopped trying to figure out how to escape.Stopped replaying every second in your head, trying to calculate what this means for tomorrow.”
He kissed her lips again—just a whisper of contact—but this time, his forearms bracketed her face, anchoring her in place as his fingers tangled in her hair, splayed wild across his pillow like a halo.
Jemma’s expression wavered—her smile flickered, then faded.“No,” she whispered, eyes glistening.
His chest tightened, but he nodded and kissed her again, softer this time.“It’s okay,” he said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand.“Tell me what’s going through your mind.Tell me why this feels like a mistake to you.”
“It…muddies the issues,” she replied, her tone heavy, laced with unease.
“What issues?”
She swallowed.“What’s going to happen between us.”
Saif shook his head slowly, his dark brows drawing together.“There are no more issues, Jemma.You left because you thought I didn’t want kids.”He rolled away, reaching for a tissue before standing and crossing the room to the bathroom.Just before disappearing, he turned and looked at her.
“Now you know I do.I want kids.I wantourkid.I wantyou.”His voice dropped, husky but firm.“And I’m going to show you—every day—that I mean it.”
Water ran in the bathroom as Jemma propped herself up on her elbows, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.The room was beautiful—dark blue and silver, like a storm contained in elegant lines—but it wasn’t hers.The décor was crisp, modern, masculine.Nothing soft.Nothing fragile.Nothing like her.
And yet… she didn’t feel unwelcome.
When he emerged a moment later, a towel slung casually over one shoulder, Jemma’s breath caught.Her eyes raked over the sculpted muscles she remembered too well—the broad shoulders, the tight waist, the way his body moved like a panther on the hunt.
Her gaze lingered a beat too long.
His body tensed under her scrutiny, and a knowing heat flickered in his eyes.
Damn it.
He smirked, then lay back on the bed beside her, tugging her gently across his chest.His fingers slid into her hair, massaging her scalp with practiced ease.
“Stop overthinking,” he said, his voice half-teasing, half-command.
She curled her hand into a fist and muttered, “I want to punch you.”
He grinned and caught her hand, slowly prying her fingers open.“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Stop doing that!”she snapped, but didn’t pull away.His skin was warm beneath her cheek, his steady heartbeat thudding against her ear.Despite herself, she relaxed into him, the heat of his body warding off her doubt like a shield.
He stroked her hair again, slower this time.Familiar.Tender.
It was almost worse than the passion—this gentleness.
Next time, she told herself, she wouldn’t be so open.Wouldn’t give herself away.Wouldn’t let him touch that vulnerable part of her that still hoped.
“Stop doing what?”he asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
