The bed was warm.
But that wasn’t what grounded her.
Gideon’s arm rested against her like a vow, not a cage, not a command.
A tether. Steady. Solid.
There, if she reached for it.
Never asking for more than she was willing to give.
At first, her body resisted. Muscles tight, spine stiff.
Her instincts whispered warnings out of habit.
Don’t relax. Don’t trust. Don’t let go.
Old reflexes didn’t die easily.
But his touch never shifted.
Never coaxed.
Never took.
It only offered.
His breath moved slow and even behind her, like an anchor in a sea she didn’t yet trust.
And his hand—God, that hand—traced soft, aimless patterns along the small of her back.
Not suggestive.
Not even intentional.
Just… present.
His thumb brushed her hip, featherlight, unhurried.
Like a signal. Like a reminder.Take your time. I’m here.
Something cracked open in her chest.
Not pain. Not fear.
Just the unfamiliar weight of being met—gently, completely, without expectation.
She didn’t know how to do this.
Didn’t know how to be touched without consequence.
Didn’t know how to rest in someone else’s quiet without preparing for the silence to turn sharp.
But she didn’t have to know.
Maybe she had to stop fighting.
Just long enough to try.
