Page 29 of Fueled By Desire


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“You need to be in control of your space,” he finished, like he already understood.

I lifted my head. “Yes.”

He nodded once. “Okay.”

I blinked at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said.

“You’re not going to argue and tell me to stay home?”

“No.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why not?”

Because if I’d asked that question yesterday, the answer would have been because you’re in danger.

But Asher didn’t do the thing my brain expected.

He brushed his thumb along my cheek slowly, voice low. “Because you’re not fragile. And because keeping you locked away would make you feel like a prisoner in your own life.”

My breath hitched.

That was exactly what it would’ve felt like.

“Also,” he added, eyes still on mine, “you’ll be safer with me beside you than you will be in this bed without eyes on the street.”

I let out a slow breath. “Okay.”

He shifted, finally sitting up fully, the sheets sliding down his hips in a way that made my attention snag despite the circumstances. Tattoos, muscle, morning heat.

I forced my focus back to the problem at hand. “Coffee first,” I said.

He lifted a brow. “You’re still in shock and you’re thinking about coffee.”

“Coffee is survival,” I replied.

A quiet sound, almost a laugh, rumbled out of him. “Fair.”

I pushed myself out of bed, feet hitting the floor. My legs felt a little wobbly, but not weak. Just… aftermath.

Asher stood too, stretching like he belonged in my bedroom, and like he’d always been there. He pulled his shirt on from the floor and reached for his boots.

I paused at the door, glancing back at him. “Thanks,” I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be. “For… last night.”

He looked up, expression steady. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to,” I replied.

His gaze softened just a fraction. “Okay.”

We moved through the apartment in quiet, the morning light growing brighter around us. I brewed coffee with hands that still felt slightly shaky, and Asher stood near the window, scanning the street like it was instinct.

When I handed him a mug, our fingers brushed.

A small contact.

A reminder.