Like maybe, just maybe, he understands he didn’t ruin me at all.
He revealed me.
And now, he’s here—silent, steady, unmovable—as I figure out what that means.
TWELVE
Cooper
AFTERMATH
She sleepslike she’s never been safe before.
Curled against my chest, lips parted, breath slow. One hand fisted in the sheet. The other resting over my heart like she forgot to pull it back.
She hasn’t moved in hours.
I haven’t either.
I should be sleeping. I haven’t shut my eyes since the job started. But I can’t. Won’t. Not with her here, soft and wrecked and pressed against me like she belongs.
Not after what we just did. What I just did.
Jesus.
I’ve fucked a lot of women. Hard, fast, anonymous. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what keeps things clean. No names. No strings. Just get in, get off, and get out.
But this?
This wasn’tthat. Not by a mile.
This was fantasy made flesh. Her fantasy. Mine. Twisted up together and set on fire.
And the way she gave it to me—raw, trembling, real—it damn near broke something in me.
Not just because she wanted it.
Because she needed it.
And I understood that need in a way I’ve never let myself admit. Not out loud. Not even in my own head.
Hell, in the world we live in, you’re not supposed to wantthat. You’re supposed to ask for consent in triplicate, schedule it on a calendar, check in every three minutes.
But she didn’t want soft.
She wanted to be taken.
And I wanted to be the man who took her. All of her. Again and again until she forgot who she was and remembered only me.
I reach for her without thinking. Slide my hand up the bare curve of her back. Just enough to feel her warmth. Her heartbeat. Just enough to make sure she’s real.
She shifts slightly but doesn’t wake.
I exhale. Quiet. Controlled.
Then I slip out of bed.
Every muscle in my body aches from being still too long. But I move like I was trained—efficient, silent.
