“Don’t even kiss him until you’re certain,” she continues quietly. “Don’t let things go further until you know — really know — that this is love and marriage and sons and forever. Because if you get to the end of all of this and you realize that you two aren’t actually compatible, that it was the adrenaline and the rescue and the intensity of everything making it feel bigger than it was — he cannot detach and move forward the way you could. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The kitchen is very quiet.
I sit with it. Really sit with it. The way she’s looking at me isn’t unkind. It’s exactly the look you give someone you’re trying to protect before they do something they can’t undo.
“I understand,” I say finally. “And you’re right to say it.”
“You’re not offended?”
“No. You’re protecting him. I’d do the same thing for someone I loved.”
“Please know I’m trying to protect you too.”
“Thanks. I can’t tell you I’m certain. I’m not there yet and I know that. But I can tell you that what I feel doesn’t feel like gratitude.” I meet her eyes. “And it doesn’t feel like a rebound. It feels like something I’ve never felt before. And I’m taking that seriously.”
Ellie studies me for a long moment. “Good,” she says. “That’s all I needed to hear. And you don’t have to figure everything out right now. Not today. Not this week.”
“He said the same thing.”
“He means it. These orcs take consent more seriously than any human man I’ve ever encountered. He will wait as long as you need.” She tilts her head. “And if you get to the end of all of this and decide you can’t do it — the pregnancy, the sons, the forever — you tell him. It will hurt him. But he would rather know the truth.”
“I won’t lead him on, I promise.”
“Thank you, that’s all I ask.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jonus
Four days of sleeping next to Sloane Adams without touching her and I have officially run out of cold water in this house.
Every morning is the same. I wake up with her body pressed against mine, her auburn hair tickling my chin, her soft curves molded to my side like she was specifically designed to fit there. And every morning, my cock is rock hard and pressed against her in a way that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I extract myself carefully. She murmurs in her sleep and reaches for me, her fingers grasping at the warm space I’ve left behind. It takes actual physical effort to leave her behind.
Then I lock myself in the bathroom.
This is my new routine. Wake up, untangle from beautiful female, shower, masturbate, get my shit together, go back out there and pretend I’m not losing my mind.
I’m getting very efficient at it.
Wednesday morning, I finish my shower and dress quickly. When I return, Sloane is awake, sitting up against the pillows, her phone already in her hand. She’s smiling at the screen.
“The group chat?” I ask.
“Anna sent a picture of her kitten, Dinah, wearing a tiny, knitted hat.” She turns her phone to show me. The cat looks furious. “Ellie is dying.”
This group chat has become the soundtrack to our days. Ellie created soon after initially meeting Sloane and named it “Orc Brides & Associates”—a title that made Sloane snort-laugh and Anna respond with a wall of crying-laughing emojis. I don’t read their messages. I don’t need to. I can track the emotional temperature by the frequency of Sloane’s laughter throughout the day.
Anna and Sloane’s connection happened fast. It started professional—Sloane had questions about the evidence chain, details about the domestic fraud that only Anna could confirm. But it got personal quickly. Anna feels indebted to Sloane for almost dying to finish what Anna started. And Sloane feels connected to Anna because they survived the same monster.
Different pits. Same enemy.
“Wound care,” I announce, kneeling at the foot of the bed. She extends her feet toward me without being asked. This part, I will never rush.
I unwrap the bandages from her left foot and examine the healing skin. The smaller cuts are nearly gone now and all that’s left are pink lines where open wounds used to be. The heel that’s stitched with dissolvable stitches is closing well, no redness, no heat. She’s healing fast.
“Looking good,” I tell her, my thumb, yet again, tracing the arch of her foot where the skin is smooth and undamaged.
