I walk over and sit on the other end of the couch, careful to give her space. “I’m scared.”
Her brows lift. “You are?”
“Yes,” I say, voice low. “I’m scared of being too late.”
Stella’s mouth parts. Her gaze drops to my hands, then back up. The blanket shifts as she turns toward me. “Jack…”
I don’t move. I don’t touch her.
I just hold her eyes.
“I keep thinking about my house,” she admits softly. “About someone standing in my kitchen. About… that zip tie.”
My jaw tightens.
She inhales shakily. “And then I think about you. How you—how you just stepped in. Like you were built for this.”
I should say something safe. Professional. Instead, the truth slips out, rough and honest. “I was built for keeping people alive.”
Her eyes warm, and something in her expression breaks open. “And you’re… here. With me.”
“Yes.”
Her voice drops. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The words hit me low in the gut. I feel my whole body respond—protective, possessive, hungry.
“I’m here,” I say, and my voice sounds like gravel.
Stella inches closer on the couch, blanket trailing. “You’re always here.”
I swallow hard.
She’s so close now I can smell her shampoo. Feel the heat of her skin through the air. Her fingers touch my forearm—light, tentative, like she’s asking permission with her hand.
I go still.
“Tell me to stop,” she whispers.
My throat tightens. “Stella…”
“That’s not an answer,” she murmurs, her fingers sliding just a fraction higher, grazing the line of muscle. “Jack.”
Hearing my name from her mouth—soft, needy—does something violent to my restraint.
I reach up, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing her skin like I’m memorizing it. “You’re tired. You’re scared.”
“I’m also me,” she breathes, leaning into my hand. “And I want you.”
The honesty in her voice punches through every rule I’ve ever lived by.
I lean in slowly, giving her time—always giving her time.
Her lips part.
The second my mouth meets hers, she makes a sound that goes straight through me.
It’s not tentative.
