He diligently frees my ankles and then looks up at me expectantly. Biting his bottom lip in a way that is utterly adorable.
“Lead the way,” I tell him.
He takes me straight there, candle held steadily. A no-nonsense edge to his stride. Calm, now that he has instructions to follow.
I follow behind him, utterly naked, and wonder why I don’t feel absurd.
The utility room is small and cluttered, filled with the mechanical guts of the building’s systems. Ginni holds the candle high, casting dancing shadows on the walls as I locate the electrical panel.
There is a dent in the fascia that’s making it difficult to open. Ginni taps me on the shoulder with a flathead screwdriver. I take it and prise the panel open.
It’s a simple fix, as I suspected. One of the main breakers has tripped, probably overloaded by all the electronics Ginni has running down here.
“Hold the light steady,” I instruct, and he moves closer, his body warm against my side as he tries to illuminate the panel properly.
When the power flickers back on, Ginni’s sigh of relief is profound.
“Thank you,” he breathes, and there’s such genuine gratitude in his voice that my chest tightens. I’m so glad I could help.
I hide my pleased grin by fiddling with the fascia and getting it neatly back in place. Then I turn around and find myself looking down the business end of a cattle prod.
When the fuck did he get that? I swear this boy should be an assassin. His ability to move silently is preternatural. While my inability to keep my guard up is laughable. I gave Ginni my back. I should have known better. I did know better. But strangely, the betrayal doesn’t sting like it should.
Ginni’s holding the cattle prod with steady hands now, his composure fully restored along with the electricity. But there’s something almost apologetic in his expression, like he hates having to return to this dynamic.
“Thank you,” he says again, softer this time. “For fixing it. For... taking care of me.”
I nod, understanding flowing between us without words. He’s not ready. Not ready to trust that I won’t run, not ready to believe that I might actually want to stay, not ready to let go of the control that makes him feel safe. And I’m not ready either, not ready to make promises I might not be able to keep, not ready to declare feelings I can’t fully trust.
So I walk back to the bedroom and settle on the bed, extending my wrists for the restraints without being asked. Ginni follows, securing the cuffs with the same careful precision he used to remove them.
“Better?” I ask, and he nods, visibly relaxing as the familiar dynamic is restored.
But something has shifted between us. In those few minutes of crisis, we glimpsed what we could be together when the artificial barriers are stripped away. Partners. Equals. A team.
And now we both know it’s possible.
Ginni curls against my side, using my chest as his pillow. He’s locked the cuffs back onto my wrists, but he’s let the chains spool out to the longest they have ever been. So I wrap my arms around him. He sighs contentedly, the crisis already fading into memory.
“I should have planned better,” he murmurs against my skin. “I should have anticipated power problems.”
“You can’t plan for everything,” I tell him gently. “But you handled it well. You asked for help when you needed it.”
“I don’t like not knowing what to do,” he admits. “I don’t like feeling... helpless.”
“Nobody does. But sometimes letting someone else take charge isn’t weakness. Sometimes it’s wisdom.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, processing this. “Would you have fixed it even if I hadn’t been upset? Even if I’d just asked?”
The question is so soft I almost miss it, but the vulnerability underneath is impossible to ignore.
“Yes,” I tell him honestly. “I’d fix anything for you, Ginni. Electrical problems, family problems, whatever you need.”
He lifts his head to look at me, those blue eyes searching my face for deception and finding none.
“Really?”
“Really.”
