“I know,” I whispered without a doubt.
He rolled on a condom, then pushed inside me inch by inch, stretching me slow enough that I felt every inch of him.
“Harmony,” he groaned, forehead pressed to mine. “Fuck.”
We moved together in long, deep strokes, it wasn’t rushed, we weren’t frantic, it was just connection in its purest form. When release hit, it tore through me, my cry muffled against his shoulder as he came with a low, guttural sound that shook me.
After, he gathered me against his chest. My breath steadied. His heartbeat slowed beneath my cheek. And for the first time in years, the silence didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a place I could rest. That night I slept safe in Eric’s arms, feeling a sense of contentment I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Light crept across the quilt,soft and gold. I woke warm and safe, tucked beneath Eric’s arm. His face was peaceful in sleep, unguarded, and younger somehow. I traced the inside of his forearm with a fingertip, and he stirred, lashes fluttering.
“You watching me?” he murmured, voice rough.
“Maybe.”
“That’s dangerous.” His lips brushed my shoulder. “You look at me like that, I’ll think you want me to stay in this bed all day.”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
He smirked… and then he disappeared beneath the covers.
“Eric, what are you . . .Oh.”
My world shattered into silence as his mouth found me again, tongue stroking deep. I choked out a moan, already trembling, and reached under the blanket until I found him thickand hot in my hand. I stroked him as he devoured me, and the dual sensation pushed us both over the edge fast. We finished breathless.
“Very nice wake-up,” I whispered.
“I could get used to it.” He smiled.
Warmth settled through me as Eric’s breathing slowed. It felt terrifying and steadying all at once, like I was finally letting myself want something that wasn’t survival. His arm was wrapped around my waist, his lips brushing my hair every few breaths. My heart hadn’t caught up with my body yet. Everything we had done, everything we had said without saying it… it sat between us like something fragile and new.
Eric shifted just enough to see my face. “You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m thinking,” I whispered.
His thumb brushed a slow line over my hip. “About last night?”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “About… us.”
He went still, not tense, just waiting. Eric always gave space to truth. It was both comforting and terrifying.
“I didn’t expect this,” I said softly. “Not with everything going on. Not with how complicated things are.”
“Sunshine,” he whispered, voice low and serious, “none of this is complicated for me.”
I swallowed hard. “It feels complicated for me.”
He shifted onto his side so our faces were inches apart. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know where we stand,” I said. “I don’t know what last night meant to you.”
The air thickened. Eric cupped my cheek gently, his thumb stroking once, slow and reassuring.
“It meant everything,” he said. “I don’t touch you casually. I never have.”
My breath caught.
“I know you’ve been carrying your past like armor,” he went on, voice steady. “I know trust isn’t easy for you. But I want you to know something.” He leaned in, forehead resting against mine. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Not because of the danger. Not because you’re in my house. I’m here because it’s you.”
