Her cry vibrates against my ear as she pulses and clamps, dragging me straight over the edge. I empty into the condom with a guttural groan, grinding deeper until the last tremor wrings us both dry.
When it’s over, she strokes my arms, soft and lingering. More intimate than the sex itself. Normally, I’d pull away from thatkind of touch—too close, too much. But tonight, I let her. Just this once.
I toss the condom, stretch out beside her. She keeps running her hands over me, like she can’t stop touching. It feels… good. Feels like being wanted, not just taken.
For the first time in a long time, I fall asleep content.
Morning light slices through the blinds in neat lines across the floor. Nina’s still pressed against me, her breath warm on my shoulder, one arm thrown across my torso like she’s claiming me even in sleep.
I should leave. I’ve got shit to do. Calls to make, security to arrange, a whole criminal enterprise that won’t run itself.
Normally, I’d be out of bed by now, reaching for my gun before my phone. But I can’t seem to move. Not with her tucked against me like I’m the safest place she’s ever been.
So I stay put, running my fingers through her dark hair and trying not to think about how right this feels.
Her bedroom is exactly what I expected. Practical, clean, nothing fancy except for a few drawings tacked to the wall that look like Austin’s work. Superheroes rendered in crayon with more enthusiasm than skill. I bet his room is a disaster zone of toys and color, everything Nina denies herself so he can have whatever he wants.
But there are other drawings too. More sophisticated ones mixed in with Austin's crayon masterpieces. The lines are confident, the shading deliberate. Adult work.
Nina’s?
They're good. Really good. Detailed sketches of faces, hands, even a few landscapes that look like they could be somewhere around Vegas.
I didn’t know she could draw.
There's something about discovering this hidden talent that knocks me off balance. Like I'm seeing a piece of her she keeps buried under all the practicality and survival. The woman who creates art but hangs it next to her kid's crayon scribbles like they're equally precious.
I trail my fingers through her hair, a mindless rhythm I could keep up for hours. She shifts against me, warm skin and soft curves, still wrapped in that cotton nightgown. Part of me wants to peel it off, see how the morning sun paints her skin gold.
When she finally opens her eyes and smiles up at me—not her work smile or her defensive smile, but something real and unguarded—a dangerous thought hits me: I could get used to this.
Fuck.
Where the hell did that come from? I don’t do morning-afters. I sure as shit don’t do relationships. The familiar itch to bolt should be screaming at me right now, but it’s barely a whisper under the weight of whatever this is with Nina.
The woman’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize. Domesticating me by stealth.
Fine. I’ll deal with it. We’re about to be spending most waking moments together anyway. Whatever it takes to keep her and Austin safe, that’s what’s happening.
“Morning,” she rasps, stretching like a cat.
I’m already half-hard just from watching her move, but I force myself out of bed before I do something stupid like suggest round two with our kid in the next room.
“Sleep okay?” I ask, pulling on my pants.
Her eyes track over my bare chest with enough heat to make me reconsider my noble intentions. “Better than okay.”
She’s twisting her hands in the sheets, nervous energy radiating from her, and I hate that I might be the cause. I grab my shirt from the floor and pull it on before sitting beside her on the bed.
“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.” It’s not bullshit. After we had sex, I went under like someone had drugged me. Deep, dreamless sleep that left me feeling almost human this morning.
I kiss her, trying to put everything I can’t say into it. That she’s changing me. That I’m equally terrified and exhilarated. That I want to wake up like this every day, which is insane because I’ve never wanted that with anyone.
She pulls me back down, and I settle over her, caught between wanting more and knowing we need to have a conversation that can’t wait. Yet she’s looking at me with so much warmth, I feel it everywhere.
Yeah, I could definitely get used to mornings like this.
Which reminds me why I stayed last night in the first place.
