The house is dark and silent, as I head straight for her bedroom, pushing the door open with my shoulder. The moment I lay her down on the bed, she lets out the faintest sigh that’s barely audible. I want to, but I don’t linger. I need to take care of her first.
In the bathroom, I grab a basin and fill it with warm water, the sound of the running tap cuts through the thick silence. My eyes scan the shelves until I find a washcloth tucked behind some folded towels. Once it’s in my hands, I dunk it into the basin and wring it out, the water trickling between my fingers as my hands tremble from fury and helplessness.
As soon as I’m back in the room, I kneel beside the bed and begin gently wiping the dirt from her face and her arms, trying to return some sense of calm to her battered appearance. She stirs slightly when I reach her legs, so I move with even more care. Carefully I peel off her muddy bottoms and gently clean her up. Every movement is deliberate and respectful. She doesn’t wake, and eventually her breathing evens out a little. As if, somewhere in that deep haze, she knows she’s safe now.
For a moment, I sit back on my heels and watch her. I’m still trying to calm the storm raging in my chest. Whatever happenedto her, I sense it’s not over.Aréir, ar a laghad, tá sí sa bhaile.(For tonight, at least, she’s home.)
Panic slams into me before my eyes even flutter open, my heart is already racing. I’d just had the most vivid dream, that my handsome, green-eyed stranger had found me. He scooped me into his arms and carried me home. Cleaned me up and treated me as if I were something precious. It felt so real… too real.
As reality sets in, so does the pain. Every inch of my body screams, raw and bruised as though I’ve been chewed up and spit out. I force my eyes open, the sting of light slicing through the haze. For a split second, I wonder, am I safe at home… or still trapped in that nightmare with the red bastard and his leeching, bloodthirsty tramp?
Grateful to be greeted by the familiar cocoon of my dusky grey bedroom, I let out a shaky breath. The nightmare hadn’t followed me here. I am home and safe.
At least, that’s what I thought… until I try to move.
A weight pins me down and my body goes rigid when I realize there’s a heavy arm slung across my stomach. It anchors me in place like a vice. My breath catches in my throat, kicking my heartbeat up into a panicked rhythm, the sound pounding in my ears. The arm is big, bigger than mine by far.
Cé atá i mo leaba?(Who the fuck is in my bed?)
Swallowing the spike of fear crawling its way up my throat, I turn my head slowly and cautiously. The sheets rustle as I move, but the body next to me doesn’t stir. Then I see him.
A mess of brown hair falling over a smooth brow. A sharp jaw with long lashes casting faint shadows over high cheekbones. My breath stutters. It’s him. My green-eyed stranger. He’s here. In my bed.
My heart is racing so fast it feels as if it might tear through my ribs. I don’t know what to do. I lie frozen, staring at him as he sleeps so peacefully beside me. His breath is slow and steady, and his lips are slightly parted. There’s a gentleness to him like this, unguarded and quiet. It stirs something deep in my chest.
From somewhere I don’t expect, a heat rises inside me. It crawls up my throat, settles in my cheeks and low in my belly. An ache or an urge, I can’t tell the difference. I want to kiss him, desperately and recklessly. I want to close the space between us and press my lips to his, to feel the reality of him, to anchor myself to something solid after all the hell I’ve been through.
With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I move carefully, straddling my handsome stranger. My legs tremble slightly as Isettle over his waist. Unsure if it’s adrenaline or nerves,or both, that pounds through me. I lean down slowly, my hands pressing gently to his chest. He’s warm, steady, and heartbreakingly calm. My pulse is anything but. I pause for a moment, my heart thudding in my ears, then I begin to peel off my top, baring myself to him. As I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, his lashes flicker open.
His gaze locks with mine, and I freeze. My breath caught in my throat. I expect him to shove me off. He doesn’t.
Instead, he lifts a hand slowly, and gently rests his palm against my thigh, his thumb grazing my skin like a whisper. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice husky with sleep.
That question stops time. That simple question. Are you sure? Cuts through the haze of heat and uncertainty as if it’s a blade.
An bhfuil mé?(Am I?)
Hesitant, I search his face, there’s no mocking, no assumption. Just quiet intensity. As if he’s giving me back control of something I didn’t even realize I’d lost.
I nod, slowly. “Yes,” I whisper, barely more than a breath. “I’m sure.”
Something shifts in his eyes, and his hand slides up from my thigh to the curve of my waist, his fingers curling around me like he’s anchoring himself.
“You scared the shite out of me,” he mutters, his voice still hoarse. There’s something else under it, something raw.
The tension breaks in my chest, and I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. “You found me.” I whisper.
Then he kisses me, and it’s not rushed or desperate but it’s as though he’s memorising every part of it. His hands move up my back, steady and strong, and my body melts into his. Every ache and shadow from the night before fades beneath the heat of him.
He flips us over gently, as if I’m something fragile, something sacred. His weight over me isn’t heavy, it’s grounding. I let out the shaky breath, which gets caught between the pounding of my heart and the heat blooming under my skin.
His lips brush against mine again, softer this time, slower. As if he’s savouring each second. His hands move with purpose, not greedy, just certain. Every touch ignites something deeper, something that coils low in my stomach and spreads like fire.
The fabric between us suddenly feels as if it’s too much. His hand slips beneath the waistband of what little I’m still wearing and he pauses. His gaze locks with mine again. Checking, always checking.
I nod, my voice caught in my throat. “Please,” I whisper.
Whatever restraint was left in him is torn apart with my words. His breath hitches, and in the blink of an eye, something in him snaps. The final thread that was pulled too tight for too long,is now broken. Gone was the careful, composed man who has been holding himself back. What remains is raw, a storm barely contained beneath skin and bone.
