And fuck if that doesn’t make me want to ruin her all over again.
The room settles into quiet after the storm we just made of each other.
Moonlight cuts through the half-open curtains in pale silver bars, striping the tangled sheets and the curve of Rae’s bare shoulder where it rests against my chest. Her breathing has slowed from ragged gasps to something soft and even, each exhale ghosting warm across my collarbone. One of her legs is hooked over mine like she’s still afraid I’ll slip away in the dark, and her hand, bruised knuckles and all, lies flat over my heart, fingers spread like she’s claiming the steady thud beneath them.
I should get up. Should check the perimeter, make sure nobody followed us out here, should at least lock the damn front door she never bothers with.
Instead I pull the sheet higher over her back, tucking it around her shoulders even though the night is warm and she’s already flushed from everything we did. My arm stays banded across her waist, heavy and possessive, keeping her anchored against me. Every few minutes one of the animals downstairs makes a noise, Hank’s low huff, Moose’s nails clicking across the hardwood, Pickle’s distant, offended little bray, but none of it matters.
Not tonight.
Her hair smells like citrus shampoo and sex and the faint trace of hay that never quite leaves this house. I bury my nose in it for a second, breathing her in, letting it ground me the way her heartbeat against my ribs grounds me. The bruise on her cheek is darker now, a vicious shadow under the moonlight, and every time my eyes drift to it the certainty in my gut hardens another degree.
Voss and his men have hours left. Not days. Hours.
I’ve already mapped that warehouse in my head again. Entry points. Exits. Blind spots. The order I’ll move through the room. Clean. Professional. Final.
But that’s tomorrow.
Tonight she’s here. Warm and whole and breathing against me, and that’s enough to shove the kill-plan to the back of my skull for a few hours. I press my lips to the top of her head, soft and barely there, and feel the last of the tension leave her body. She makes a sleepy little sound, nuzzles closer, and her fingers curl once against my chest like she’s saying stay.
I stay.
My hand strokes slow circles along her spine, up and down in an absent rhythm that matches her breathing until it slows even more, until the rise and fall of her ribs against mine is the only movement left in the room. Somewhere downstairs Cricket lets out one last sharp yip and then quiets. The farmhouse creaks once, settling into itself the way old houses do, and then there’s nothing but the low drone of crickets outside and the soft cadence of Rae sleeping in my arms.
I don’t close my eyes right away.
I watch the moonlight slide across the wall. Count the steady beats of her heart against mine. Memorize the exact weight of her body draped over me like she belongs here.
Because she does.
Eventually my own eyelids grow heavy. The kill-plan is still there, waiting for daylight, for when the sun comes up and I have to leave her sleeping to go finish what needs finishing.
For now I let myself sink.
My arm tightens around her one last time, instinctive and protective.
Then I follow her into sleep.
FOURTEEN
RAE
The first thingI notice when I wake up is warmth. Not the kind that comes from blankets or the sun creeping through the window. This warmth is heavier than that, solid and steady, like I’m pressed up against a living space heater that also happens to breathe slowly against the back of my neck. For a few seconds my brain floats in that quiet place between sleep and fully waking up, trying to figure out why I can’t roll over without something tightening around my waist.
Then the memory of last night slides back into place. Cole.
My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim gray light filtering through the thin curtains over the window. The bedroom still feels wrapped in early morning quiet, that soft moment before the farm fully wakes up. I can smell hay drifting in faintly through the cracked window, mixed with dog fur and the citrus shampoo I used before collapsing into bed last night.
Behind me, Cole is still asleep.
His chest is pressed firmly against my back, one arm wrapped around my waist like he fell asleep holding me there and neveronce considered letting go. His hand rests low on my stomach, the weight of it heavy and warm through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. His breathing is slow and even, each exhale brushing against the back of my neck and sending little shivers down my spine.
For a moment I don’t move at all.
Partly because it’s comfortable.
Partly because the man is basically a human furnace.
