“If you want to sleep some more, I will get you one of my shirts again.”
She nods, and I help her sit on the edge of the bed before moving to the drawer. I hand her a clean T-shirt, and she accepts it quietly before I turn away, giving her privacy. If I don’t, I’ll end up forgetting my manners, and the last thing she needs right now is me inside her.
I should’ve brought her clothes here. Something soft and comfortable instead of those pants and silk blouses she wears. The ones I fantasize about tearing off her every time she looks at me like I’m the enemy.
Even now, while I wait facing the wall, all I can think about is chasing her through the woods, pinning her to that tree, and taking every inch of her.
But what follows isn’t lust. It’s the memory of her whispering my name after I tended to her wounds. The way she thanked me when I didn’t deserve it. The way it felt to take care of her, for no other reason than wanting to.
“Okay. You can turn around now.”
Her voice is small. Worn down to the bone. And all I can think about is how much I miss the woman who gives me hell. The one who fights me with every breath. The one I can hate.
Because this quiet version of her? This girl in my shirt, in my bed? She scares me more than anyone ever has.
I help her settle against the pillows, adjusting them until her body sinks into the mattress just right. She doesn’t speak, just watches me with those guarded eyes that used to burn with defiance.
Now they search mine like they’re trying to figure out if I’m the monster she should fear or the one who just saved her.
I pull the comforter up, tucking it snug around her like she might slip through my fingers if I don’t. My hand stalls at her shoulder, then drifts higher, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her chest rises with a shallow breath, like she’s afraid I’ll pull away if she moves.
If only it was that easy to resist her. My life would be so much simpler.
“I’ll see you later.” The words are dry on my tongue.
I turn and close the door behind me before she can answer, the latch clicking into place. But I can’t seem to move, back against the door, like some magnetic force is keeping me here.
Seconds tick by, and I’m left thinking about her on the other side, in that bed alone, pretending she’s fine.
“Blyat…” I mutter as violent inhales rival through me, my hand snapping to the knob.
I shove off the door, taking a step away, then stop, my fists clenching. And without stopping myself, I twist the handle and push the door open just in time to catch her wiping a tear from her cheek.
She freezes.
“Were you crying?” My voice cuts sharper than I mean it to, but it’s too late to soften the edge.
“What? No. I…” She clears her throat, the lie landing thick between us.
But I see it. The tears still clinging to her lashes. The flush in her cheeks.
I move on autopilot, lifting the comforter and sliding in beside her.
She startles, peering at me with a twist of confusion. “Wha–what are you doing?”
I don’t answer because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing at all. I just know I need to be here, need to hold her.
My arm finds its way under her, pulling her in tight. Her body goes still for half a breath before she settles, pressing into me with a soft groan.
When her arm curls around me, I stop thinking and let myself feel. The weight of her in my arms. The way her breath syncs to mine. The quiet, unbearable peace.
And for the first time in longer than I care to admit, sleep doesn’t feel like something I have to fight for. It just takes me.
Because when she’s here, the war quiets.
And I hate how much I need that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
