Min-ho sat in an armchair by the window, hazel eyes fixed on me with an intensity that pinned me to the pillow. He'd showered and changed at some point, his black hair damp and pushed back from his face, his broad shoulders wrapped in a soft gray sweater. But the exhaustion still showed in the shadows beneath his eyes, in the lines of tension around his mouth.
He'd been watching me sleep. Guarding me, even here, even in this fortress of luxury where no threat could reach us.
"How long was I out?" My voice came out rough, scraped raw from screaming his name in the forest.
"Fourteen hours. You needed the rest."
Fourteen hours. I'd slept for fourteen hours straight, something I hadn't done since before Vernon. Since before I'd learned to sleep with one eye open, always listening for footsteps in the hallway, always braced for the door to swing wide.
I shifted beneath the covers and felt the pleasant ache of well-used muscles, the lingering soreness between my thighs where Min-ho had claimed me. My skin was clean, scrubbed free of dirt and sweat and the evidence of our joining. Someone had washed me while I slept.
No. Not someone. Min-ho.
"You cleaned me up," I said.
"You were covered in forest debris. Pine needles in places pine needles should never be." A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I was careful. Didn't want to wake you."
The tenderness of it undid something in me. Vernon had never touched me with care. Every contact had been a reminder of ownership, a reassertion of dominance. The idea that Min-ho had bathed me while I slept, had handled my unconscious body with gentleness rather than possession, was almost too much to process.
I pushed myself upright against the pillows, the comforter pooling around my waist. Beneath it, I was naked, my skin marked with bruises from the claiming. I could see them scattered across my hips and thighs, purple and blue and perfect. Evidence of passion rather than punishment.
The claiming bite throbbed at my neck, a warm pulse that matched my heartbeat. I raised my hand and touched it gently, feeling the raised edges of the wound, the tender flesh that would scar and mark me as Min-ho's forever.
I didn’t need the bond to read his expression. It was possessive satisfaction on his face before concern replaced it. He was checking on me. Reading my emotional state, making sure I wasn't panicking or regretting what we'd done.
"I'm okay," I said, answering the unspoken question. "Sore. But okay."
He nodded slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Are you hungry?"
My stomach answered before I could, growling loudly in the quiet room. I hadn't eaten properly in days. Hadn't eaten properly in a year, if I was being honest. Running didn't leave much room for three square meals.
Min-ho rose from the chair and crossed to a phone on the bedside table. He dialed a number and ordered without consulting a menu, his voice low and confident, rattling off items with the ease of someone who had done this before. When he hung up, he settled on the edge of the bed, close enough to touch but not touching, giving me space.
"Food will be here in twenty minutes. I ordered breakfast even though it's afternoon. Figured you could use the protein."
"What did you get?"
"Eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, toast with real butter. Orange juice and coffee." He paused. "And pancakes. You used to love pancakes, back at Ashworth. The dining hall made them every Sunday and you'd stack six on your plate and drown them in syrup."
The memory surfaced unbidden. Sunday mornings in the Ashworth Academy dining hall, Min-ho across the table watching me eat with an expression I hadn't understood at fourteen. Amusement and fondness and something deeper that I wouldn't have been able to name even if I'd tried.
"You remember that," I said.
"I remember everything about you."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with all those lost years. I looked away, overwhelmed, focusing on the mountains outside the window instead of the man sitting beside me.
The food arrived on a rolling cart pushed by a beta in a crisp uniform. She set everything up on a table by the window without making eye contact, professional and discreet, then disappeared as silently as she'd come.
I ate like I was starving. Because I was starving, had been starving for longer than I wanted to admit. The eggs were fluffy and perfectly salted. The bacon was crisp at the edges and tenderin the center. The pancakes were everything I remembered from Ashworth and more, golden brown discs of comfort that melted on my tongue when I added butter and syrup.
Min-ho didn't eat. Just sat across from me with a cup of coffee, watching me devour the meal, his expression soft in a way I couldn’t quite name.
"You need to eat too," I said between bites.
"I ate earlier. While you were sleeping."
"Min-ho."
