I trace the edge of his jaw with my fingers.
“Then breathe.”
That cocky half-smile quirks across his face, and he looks away, like he’s gathering the words carefully. “You keep my mind quiet,” he says.
“You have no idea how hard that is for me. Everything is always…loud. But when you touch me, it all just... stops.”
His words settle deep in my chest—a truth I can feel in my bones. Maybe it’s one soul recognizing another.
“Can I just hold you for a while?” he asks.
I nod, my forehead resting against his.
“For as long as you need.”
His arms tighten around me, the noise fades—not just in his head, but mine too. I feel protective of him. I want him to have his peace…and I want to be the one willing to fight for it. To fight for him.
My fingers draw lazy circles over his chest as his thumb traces slow paths down my spine. Trey’s heartbeat is steady beneath my ear. His arms wrap around me like a shield, heavy but safe. I don’t know how long we’ve been like this, tangled on the sofa, the afternoon light spilling through the windows, warming the room. I know it’s been long enough that my breathing has fallen in sync with his. My fingers trace the dark lines of a tattoo across his chest. With a sigh, Trey releases me and heads to the fridge. He comes back with a couple of bottles of water and flops onto the couch. The second contact is broken, my thoughts are spinning as the world creeps back into motion. I hesitate, wanting to clamp down on the words—but they slip out anyway, soft and trembling, barely a whisper.
“Why aren’t you repulsed by my touch?” My voice catches on the last word. My throat tightens.
Trey freezes, bottle still in hand, and a slow breath escapes him.
“Explain,” he murmurs, one eyebrow quirking up. He cracks the seal and takes a long drink, and I can’t stop staring—his lips, the tiny glint of the piercing, the way they part and move, like they were made for words I’ll never forget. Heat blooms low inmy stomach, my chest tightens, and I’m painfully aware of every inch of him in front of me.
“Because…” I look away, so I can find my thoughts.
“Hey.” His hand comes up, warm and gentle beneath my chin. “You never have to be afraid to tell me what’s in your head, alright?”
I nod, but the words still tumble out. “It’s just…hard to understand. My father spent his whole life making me feel ashamed of everything I was. Like I was…unclean. Until these past few days, I don’t recall ever being held, let alone treated the way you have shown me.”
Trey’s arms come around me. He doesn’t say anything, and somehow that’s better.
“He said my mother was a whore,” I whisper. “That I had to pay for her sins. He told me my red hair was proof the devil had touched me. Tried to claim me.” I laugh, but it comes out cracked, half mad. “The older I got, the more I started to question things. But every question earned me punishment. I couldn’t understand it—why God would hurt the ones who were trying so hard to be good and forgive the ones who weren’t. I almost resentedhim.” I point to the ceiling. Trey follows my finger, frowning, then meets my gaze.
“Then I realized…it’s my father’s ego. His whole interpretation.”
He studies me for a long moment, green eyes soft but searching.
“Tell me something, baby.” His voice drops low, a rough whisper meant for only me. “When you look at me…when I touch you. Do you regret it?”
My heart stumbles. The question cuts straight through my chest. He swallows, eyes darkening. “Am I nothing but temptation, some fucked up embodiment of sin to you? Some kind of punishment sent to test your faith?”
I can’t look away. I think of my father’s voice, his sermons on purity, his warnings about desire, about devils disguised as beautiful men. Then I think of Trey. Flawed, fierce, good in ways my father could never understand.
“No,” I whisper. “You’re not a punishment.” My fingers trace the line of his jaw, the scar above his lip. “Your proof that not everything forbidden is wrong.”
He exhales, something breaking loose behind his eyes. I press my palm against his chest, right where his heart beats steady beneath my hand.
“You’re definitely temptation, but I believe you were brought to me. You have to have been. Even if you don’t fully believe it, you’re not the devil, nor an angel—you’re my salvation, Trey.” Trey goes very still.
For a second, the world holds its breath with him. His eyes, green, molten, impossible—burn through me like he’s seeing every piece of my soul I’ve ever tried to hide. Then, without a word, he moves.
In one fluid motion, he flips us, my back sinking into the sofa cushions as his body covers mine. His weight is solid, but the way he looks at me…it feels like worship. His hand slides up, fingers threading through my hair, the rough pad of his thumb brushing the tear that clings to my cheek.
“Careful, sweet girl,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, silk against my skin. “You say things like that, and I might start believing I was made for you.”
Before I can breathe, he’s kissing me. Until I’m drunk on his taste, his smell, and his warmth. His teeth nip at my bottom lip, before he glides his tongue into my mouth with a hunger that leaves me dizzy. A moan rips from me as he kisses me harder, biting and nipping in delicious, torturous intervals. He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, molten. His hand drifts down, tracing my jaw, sliding along my neck, thumb catching the pulse that races beneath his touch. Every nerve is on fire, every inch of me aware of him—his chest pressed against mine, the warmth of him seeping into me, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against mine.
