She gives me a look—equal parts scorn and amusement—and I swear my chest might burst from the tension.
The wind picks up outside, rustling the trees, carrying the faint scent of rain. Her hair tangles against her neck. I want to reach for it, to tuck it behind her ear, to smell it, to press her closer until she can’t tell where I end and she begins. And then I remember the chain, the isolation, the power I hold and shouldn’t. The moral line I teeter on is razor-thin, and I feel it slice across my conscience with every heartbeat.
I kneel slightly to match her height, hands hovering just inches from her knees.
“Don’t run again,” I murmur, my voice low, nearly pleading.
She swallows, eyes wide, lips parted, and I can’t read if she’s afraid or curious.
My thumb brushes a stray hair from her forehead, the tiniest act, and the ache in my chest twists into something darker, more possessive.
She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t resist. And that’s when I realize she’s testing me, the same way I’m testing her. Every glance, every word, every movement is a negotiation of control, of trust, of danger.
Her gaze drops for a fraction of a second, and I catch the faintest tremor in her jaw. I want to make it stop. I want to claim it as my own. But I also know that if I do, if I step over that line, there’s no going back.
“Stay here,” I whisper, standing.
“Where the fuck would I go when you have me tied up, Jamie?”
My shadow stretches across the floor, looming over her in a way that should feel threatening. But she doesn’t flinch. She watches me leave the room to secure the door, to make sure no one can disturb this fragile, combustible balance we’ve created.
When I return, I see her shift slightly, body coiled and tense, ready to bolt, ready to fight, ready to beg. And somewhere deep inside, I know I’ll let her do all three.
We stand there together, trapped in the cold and the dark and the moral gray of everything we’ve become, neither prisoner nor captor entirely, the boundary between desire and danger so thin I can feel it cutting through my skin.
And I know, without speaking it aloud, that nothing will ever be simple again.
Her breath shudders out, and I notice it the scrape along her ankle, a thin line of blood where the cuff rubbed raw when she ran. The sight makes guilt heavy in my chest. I kneel again, reaching for the rag near the basin, wetting it with what little water’s left.
She watches me the whole time, wary but silent. When I touch her ankle, she jerks slightly, then stills. The skin is warm beneath my fingers, trembling under the pressure of the cloth. I press lighter, careful now, letting the silence fill the space between us.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
She gives a small shrug. “Not enough to matter.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’d say that even if you’d lost a toe.”
That earns me a faint flicker of a smile, barely there, but real. It softens something sharp in my chest. I keep cleaning, slow, deliberate. The smell of rain drifts through the cracked window, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood. I shouldn’t find the sound of her breathing this distracting.
She studies me, eyes tracing every movement. “Why are you doing that?”
“Because I care about you,” I say simply.
She scowls at me and then her expression softens. Her lips part but no sound comes out. I feel her pulse beating under my fingers, her skin so soft it feels like a secret. My hand lingers a second too long, then slides up, over the bone of her ankle to the curve of her calf. She doesn’t move away.
I look up. Her eyes catch mine, and the room shrinks again. The lamp hums faintly. Outside, the wind picks up. The air feels alive.
“Chloe…” My voice comes out rough, quieter than a whisper.
She leans in before I even realize she’s moved. The distance disappears in a heartbeat. My hand rises, brushing a streak ofdirt from her cheek, my thumb catching the edge of her jaw. Her breath catches against my mouth.
I don’t think.
I kiss her.
Her lips are soft, colder than I expect, tasting faintly of Coke and rain. Then she exhales, and the tension between us breaks like a storm. The kiss deepens. She presses closer, and my hand slides to the back of her neck, anchoring her there as if letting go might undo everything.
When I pull back, her eyes are open, fixed on mine. No fear now. Just heat, confusion, defiance, and something that feels too much like trust.
