Shuddering, Zane follows me over, his arms tightening until I can barely breathe. His harsh exhalations fill my burning lungs. I feel utterly possessed, completely defenseless.
“God, Georgia.” He buries his face in my throat. “Need you. I need you so much.”
“Baby.” I hold him close. So afraid to let go
We lie there, all tangled up. His breathing evens out beside me, deep and steady, his arm heavy across my waist like an anchor. My body is loose, spent, but my mind keeps churning with mangled thoughts that I can’t quite grasp.
Maybe a glass of water will help…
I ease myself gently out of his arms, careful not to wake him. I pad out of the room barefoot, moving on habit more than intention. Without thinking, I flick on the hall light as I pass through. In the kitchen, I drink quickly, leaning against the counter. When I’m done, I turn and walk back toward the bedroom.
Suddenly, I stop in my tracks.
The light from the hallway reaches just far enough into the room to touch the bed. Zane has kicked the covers off in his sleep, leaving himself open to my gaze in a way he never allows when he’s awake. For a moment, I simply stand there, my chest tight with something I can’t immediately name.
I see him—all of him—and he’s…stunning.
Even lying down, his size is undeniable. Long, powerful lines. Broad shoulders that seem to take up more space than the bed should allow. His chest rises and falls slowly, dusted with dark hair that narrows as it trails down his stomach. The scars, so familiar to my fingers, are there–—I see them, but they don’t command my attention the way I once imagined they might. They register, yes, but they don’t define him.
What I notice first—what holds my attention—is his strength.
The solid curve of his arms. The width of his shoulders. The way muscle lies easy on his frame, not posed or flexed, just there. My gaze drifts lower, taking in his torso, the trim line of his waist, the defined planes of his stomach. The sharp V at his hips pulls my eyes down further than I expect, and heat curls low in my belly when I realize just how much of him I can see.
Even at rest, even slack with sleep, he’s…imposing.
I swallow hard, suddenly grateful I hadn’t seen him like this before the first time we were together. Feeling him had been overwhelming enough. Seeing him, the sheer size of him, would have sent me spiraling. I know that now.
I force myself to look back up.
His face is still mostly in shadow, but the light traces enough for me to study him. The strong line of his jaw, framed by a neatly kept beard. His nose, straight and prominent. His lashes are unexpectedly long, so much they cast shadows on his cheeks. His eyebrows are heavy, making him look serious even in sleep. The scars near his eye and cheek are visible now, faint but unmistakable.
They don’t make him look broken.
If anything, they make him look dangerous in a quiet, contained way. Like a man who has faced violence and survived it. Like someone who knows exactly how much he can endure.
And has.
I take him in again, slower this time, my eyes moving over him with care, committing every detail to memory. This isn’t a voice in the dark. This isn’t a presence that disappears with the night. This is a real man, breathing in my bed, solid and warm and unmistakably here.
The urge to touch him rises suddenly, sharp and insistent. Not out of curiosity. Not even desire, though that’s there too. It’s something deeper than that…a need to reassure. To let him know, without waking him, without words, that seeing him like this doesn’t change anything. That if anything, it anchors what I already feel. Because now he isn’t some beautiful mystery that slips away before dawn. Now he’s real. And I want him, not despite that, but because of it.
Suddenly his eyes flutter open and our gazes clash. I let out a sharp, involuntary gasp.
For half a second, I can’t move or think. He’s staring straight at me, deep brown eyes locked on mine, dark and alert and nothing like the softness I’d been admiring moments ago. The implication of being caught like this hits me all at once.
Zane reacts immediately, sitting up fast, too fast. The movement is abrupt and defensive. The sheet comes with him as he drags it up and around himself, retreating into the darker corner of the bed like the light has burned him. He angles his body away, shoulders hunched, face turning back into shadow.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps.
The edge in his voice slices through me. I shake my head, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “I—I swear, I didn’t mean to. I just got up for water and turned on the lightwithout thinking. I didn’t know—” The words tumble out clumsy and rushed, and then the guilt hits. Sharp. Bitter.
Because it isn’t entirely true.
I hadn’t planned this, not like this, but I had planned to see him. I had wanted to. I’d imagined it so many times that the wanting had almost become a background hum in my chest. Standing here now, caught between what happened by accident and what I’d once hoped for on purpose, I feel exposed in a way I hadn’t expected.
Something flickers across his face, a hardness that shatters my heart.
He must have read my hesitation wrong, because his jaw tightens and his shoulders stiffens further.
