She breathes me in, and for a moment, I watch her let go. There’s a clarity in her face that stabs me with something like joy. We move together into the night until our muscles shake and the lamp finally snaps off in the dark because we’d forgotten our steadiness.
When we fall into the tangle of sheets and bodies, spent and raw, my hand finds her hip and she presses her forehead to mine.
“Thank you for getting Calista and Toby to drop the charges,” I whisper.
“I was just correcting a wrong, but you’re welcome.”
I didn’t want her to get involved, but she did anyway. I’d already called Matt, but we ran into him on the way out of the station. Ella is a force to be reckoned with, and I’m scared that I don’t deserve her. I have too much baggage, too much going on.
And yet, I hold her close, listening to her slow breaths, wishing this could be permanent.
I fold my arms around her, and she tucks her head under my chin. Her hand finds my chest, fingers splayed flat, and I feel the rise and fall of her breathing. The sound she makes is like surrender and victory rolled into one.
“You okay?” she asks, voice small and immediate.
“Yeah,” I say. “Better than I’ve been in a really long time.”
She smiles up at me, that sunlit grin that keeps breaking things down in me. “Good. Because I want more.”
I laugh, a raw sound in the quiet of my bedroom, and then kiss the soft skin of her forehead. “Give a man a second to breathe.”
“Okay, five minutes,” she relents, her lips finding mine once more.
I don’t get those five minutes, but I don’t complain one bit. We get lost in each other for hours before we tumble into sleep like exhausted children, limbs tangled, the night unpacking itself into a softness I didn’t know I needed.
13
ELLA
I wake up warm. Not sweating, choking on the tail-end of a nightmare, or clawing my way out of some memory I can’t outrun. But warm, with strong arms wrapped around me, making me feel the safest I’ve felt in a really long time.
A smile graces my lips as I recognize the room and the scent that surrounds me. I might have been tipsy yesterday, but not enough to erase my memory. I remember everything that happened. Every. Single. Detail.
Cole’s chest rises against my back in slow, even breaths, his arm heavy around my waist, his fingers curved gently against my stomach, gently cradling me. His body radiates heat, and I melt back into it without thinking. My cheek rests on his forearm, thescent of him—cedar, a hint of whiskey, and last night—soaking into my lungs.
For the first time in months, maybe years, I didn’t wake up shaking, in the dark, heart hammering, choking on guilt. I just… slept.
I sigh, eyes still half closed, letting the weight of last night wash over me—his hands, mouth, and voice calling me beautiful in places I’ve hated since I was bullied for my weight in high school. He touched me like he wasn’t afraid of any part of me, and looked at me like I was the one doing him a favor by existing.
I stretch slightly, and his arm tightens instinctively. That’s when it hits. Last night. Oh God. Last night.
Slowly, horrifyingly, the warm post-sex bliss cracks open, and my insecurities slink right in. He was drunk, I was too, we were emotional, he’d just gotten arrested and released, after winning the biggest project of his career. Of course, he slept with me. It was gratitude sex. Stress sex. Convenience sex.
An awful sinking feeling fills my stomach. I blink hard at the ceiling, willing the tears back. “What did you do, Ella?” I whisper to myself.
Cole lets out a sleepy groan behind me. My body tenses as guilt floods my system. I need to get out of here. If I don’t make too much noise, maybe he won’t wake up. Then I can slip out quietly, go home, gather my dignity, and pretend I didn’t maul the man last night like I was starved.
I carefully lift his arm and begin inching out from under it. He doesn’t stir. Good. I manage to wiggle out without waking him, though it takes every ounce of stealth I possess. His grip loosens on a sleepy exhale, and I freeze, waiting. When he doesn’t move again, I roll out of bed, putting my ninja skills to use.
I find my bra tangled in the blankets, tug his huge shirt on since he tore mine, and shimmy into my jeans as quietly as humanly possible. My shoes are on the far side of the room, and I tiptoe across the carpet, moving slow enough that even a mouse would be impressed.
I crack the bedroom door open and tiptoe to my freedom. The living room is still dim, lit only by a strip of early morning sun cutting through the blinds. Perfect. I can make it. I can escape without having to face—
Creak.
The front door swings wide open, followed by light footsteps. “DADDY? I’M HOME!”
I freeze mid-step, whole body seizing as Aria barrels into the living room, backpack bouncing, hair wild, talking a mile a minute. “Yaya said I could come in because she has a doctor’s appointment, and also I had waffles AND ice cream, but maybe that’s not healthy, but—“
