“And you’re dangerous,” I murmur into her hair. “If we stay like this, I’m never leaving this bed.”
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. For a minute, it’s perfect. Just the lingering haze of what we did to each other last night.
Then, she lifts her head. Her eyes drift to the nightstand.
The clock says 9:17.
I feel her stiffen in my arms. The sleepy softness vanishes, replaced instantly by tension. She pulls back, putting inches between us.
“Ben, look at the time.” Her voice climbs a pitch. “It’s after nine.”
“I know.” I try to pull her back, but she resists, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her chest.
“You have... things to do,” she says, the words coming out fast and breathless. “It’s fight day. You have rituals. Training. I’m—God, I’m keeping you from your routine.”
“Tilly, relax. I’m ahead of schedule.”
She’s ignoring me. She scans the room, spotting her scattered clothes, her eyes wide. I watch the wheels turning in her head, and I hate where they’re going. She sees herself as an intruder. A mistake.
“I should go,” she says abruptly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I can call a cab. Or if you need the room cleared out for your team, I can just grab my stuff and walk to the?—”
“Hey.”
I reach out, closing my hand around her wrist. My grip is firm, halting her movement instantly.
“Ben, really, it’s fine,” she says, refusing to look at me. “I know how this works. You need to get your head in the game. Having someone here is just a distraction.”
A distraction.
The word lands like a physical blow.
“Is that what you think last night was?” I ask, my voice dropping, rough with irritation. “A distraction?”
She turns to look at me then, and the insecurity in her eyes guts me. She looks small. Uncertain.
“I think you’re about to fight the biggest match of your life,” she says softly. “And I think men say a lot of things in the heat of the moment, Ben. I accept that.”
She thinks I played her. She thinks the things I whispered in her ear—you’re mine, I’ve got you—were just lines in a script.
A fierce, desperate need claws at my chest. I need to correct that. Right now.
“Come here,” I command.
“Ben, I?—”
“Come here.”
I tug on her wrist, pulling her back onto the mattress. She lands with a gasp, and I move over her immediately, caging her between my arms. I settle my weight over her hips, pinning her effectively.
“It wasn’t the heat of the moment,” I say, staring straight into her eyes. “I meant every word. You aren’t a distraction, Tilly. You’re the only thing keeping me sane.”
Her breath hitches. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” I run my hand up her throat, tilting her chin so she can’t look away. I need to imprint this on her so deep she never questions it again. “I want you here. I want you in my bed, in my corner, everywhere.”
“Ben...”
“I need to remind you,” I growl, lowering my head until my lips brush hers. “I need you to know exactly who you belong to.”
