My fingers cling onto him, surrendering entirely to the sheer dominance of his kiss. I don’t have it in me to fight it. I don’t know that I want to. My heart stops when he pulls me closer.
The world shrinks down until it’s just the two of us, he invades every single one of my senses, the feel of his lips against mine. I inhale deep, finding comfort in the familiar dark citrus scent of him. I breathe it in, my hands moving up to the back of his head, my fingers running through his hair. It’s softer than I thought it would be. A wave of calm settles over me. The warmth from his body leeches into mine, his tight grip on my hair—on my body—grounding me.
When my breathing evens out, he pulls away, and I release a long steadying breath, peering up at him.
“That’s it, breathe. Just like that. Good.”
The realization of what just happened hits me and I spin away from him. We’re both on the ground, he’s on his knees in front of me, but I can’t look at him.
I need to cry, I need to let it out. My throat is tight, a sob just wanting to escape, but I don’t want to.Not in front of him.
My back is to Koen now and I know he can see me struggling. I feel him shift and then he’s pulling me back—pulling me into him.
I try to fight his hold on me, try to pull away, but his arms lock around me, caging me in. Frustration at not being able to escape finally tips me over the edge, and I release a small sob. I can’t hold it now that it’s out, and more follow.
Strong arms tighten around my middle and he leans in, resting his chin down on my shoulder. His hold on me is tight, but I no longer feel trapped—I feelsafe. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask any questions. He just sits there, holding me. He keeps holding me until the tears stop, and my breathing slows down to match the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.
I don’t know how long we sit like that. I’m emotionally strung out. I feel numb and I nearly jump at the sound of his voice when he finally speaks, though his tone is soft.
“You ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I sniff, raising my hands and wiping my cheeks. “I just gotta get my bag.”
“I’ll get it.” Koen lets me go. Getting to his feet, he crosses the studio, picking up my phone and putting it into my bag, before zipping it shut and swinging it over his shoulder.
I rise awkwardly, trying to avoid putting too much weight on my ankle. I use the ballet barre above me for assistance, wincing slightly at the shooting pain when I accidentally lean too far on it. I go to take one step but my foot never lands. My world tilts sideways as my legs are swept out from under me, and I let out a cry of surprise as I fall back. My hands scramble for purchase, and I cling tightly to Koen’s t-shirt. He’s scooped me up.
I kick out with my feet, attempting to twist out of his hold.
“It’s not that serious. I can walk!”
But he’s already carrying me toward the entrance, tightening his grip.
“Maybe, but you’re not going to.”
“You were just shot!” I protest, looking around frantically to make sure I’m not leaning against his injured shoulder, feeling no relief despite discovering I’m not. “You’re going to make it worse. ”
“Then maybe you should stop wiggling.”
I do. I stop struggling. Not wanting to hurt him any more than I probably already am.
“You can just take me home,” I hedge, as he sets me down in the passenger seat of the SUV. Hoping maybe he forgot about the wholenot having heatthing in all of the excitement.
“Not a chance, Ballerina. Buckle up. You’re staying with me tonight. I’m not fucking arguing with you about it.” He snaps when he sees me opening my mouth, “Your heat will be fixed in the morning.”
I blink up at him. “Wait, it will? Uh, how?” I’ve spent most of this fall, and much of last winter, berating the landlord to fix the damn heat, but he couldn’t care less.
Koen slides into the driver’s seat, shooting me a dark smile.
“Don’t worry about it.”
52
WE DON’T HAVE A GUEST ROOM
BRIAR
Now
