Her body tightens as she splinters apart, clutching me like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping her afloat. Seeing her this way, face flooded with pleasure and trust and something dangerously close to surrender, rips me apart.
A few deep thrusts later and I’m coming hard with a noise that doesn’t sound human. My hands stay locked on her, as if it’s possible to fuse us together. My release spills inside her, and all I can think is that this woman is mine.
She belongs to me.
The same way I belong to her.
She collapses against me, hair draping across my torso, as I wrap my arms around her. I stay buried inside her, unwilling to let the connection fade. Her skin is damp with sweat as her pulse races against mine. Little by little, she sinks into me, the tension easing from her frame.
I press a kiss to the crown of her head, my lips lingering like a promise. “You’re enough,” I murmur into her hair. “You’ll always be enough.”
She makes a small sound, almost a whimper, but doesn’t pull away. Her hands fist weakly at my chest, then loosen, fingers splaying open like she’s finally letting herself rest.
It doesn’t take long for her breathing to even out.
Even in sleep, she searches for me, tucking closer until the warmth of her breath feathers against the hollow of my throat.
Maybe it’s nothing.
Or maybe it’s the smallest bit of trust.
She never acknowledged what I said, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe silence is all she can give right now.
If that’s the case, I’ll take it.
I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give.
And hopefully someday, she’ll believe it.
She’ll know she’s enough because I’ll never let her forget it.
I roll us carefully onto our sides, keeping her tucked close, our legs tangled together under the sheets. My palm spreads protectively over her stomach, and she shifts into my hold, as if her body already knows what her heart is too stubborn to admit.
The glow of the city lights seeps through the window, painting her skin in a faint gold. I study her in the dim light, memorizing every curve. I remain awake long after she begins snoring softly, because I don’t want to let go of this moment.
Her body is pliant against me now, trusting. By morning, that trust will be gone, especially with the world outside this room waiting to test it.
Evelyn’s comment from earlier rings in my head.
She’ll try to push you away.
Maybe she’s right.
Maybe Rina doesn’t fully trust me yet.
Maybe she won’t for a long time.
But that won’t stop me from proving she can.
One small touch at a time, until she does.
41
Rina
Oliver’s gone by the time I wake the next morning. The last thing I remember is the muted rush of the shower drifting from the bathroom after he nuzzled me before getting out of bed. The sheets are now cool where his body was, the indentation already faded, even as his scent lingers on the pillow.
It’s clean spice and something I’ve come to recognize as innately him.
