Eventually, I retreat to my bedroom. The bed feels enormous without her in it. I've grown accustomed to her warmth in just a week. The vanilla scent on my pillows. The soft sounds she makes in her sleep.
Sleep won't come. I lie in the darkness, replaying the moment that gun swung toward her chest. The calculation in Jonah's eyes. The way his finger moved toward the trigger.
If I'd been slower. If he'd fired before I reached him.
I could have lost her. That thought alone will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I give up on sleep around midnight. The need clawing at me has shifted from emotional to physical, my body desperate for anykind of release from the tension that's been building all day. All week.
I shove down my boxer briefs and wrap my hand around my cock. I'm already hard, the stress and fear transmuting into arousal the way it always does after violence. I stroke myself slowly, eyes closed, thinking of her.
The sweet taste of her on my tongue. The feminine sounds she makes when she gives me her release. Her softness under my touch. The way those pretty brown eyes lock with mine and she holds me captive. She looks at me like I'm not a monster. Like I'm a man worth trusting.
My hand moves faster. My breath comes shorter. I'm close, the pressure building?—
The door opens.
I freeze, my hand still wrapped around my shaft, my heart slamming against my ribs.
She's standing in the doorway between our rooms. Wearing one of my shirts and nothing else. The buttons are undone, revealing a delicious sight of creamy skin and bare folds. The hem falls to mid-thigh, revealing miles of bare leg. Her hair is loose and wild around her face. Her feet are bare against the hardwood floor.
She's watching me. And she doesn't look away.
"Don't stop." Her voice is soft but steady. "I want to see."
My brain short-circuits. Every rational thought evaporates.
But I don't move. Don't resume stroking. Just stare at her, my chest heaving, my cock throbbing in my grip.
"Katriana." Her name comes out rough. "What are you doing here? I thought after today..."
She takes a step into the room. Then another. The shirt rides up with each movement. A blast of heat shoots through me.
"I couldn't sleep." She stops at the foot of the bed. "I kept thinking about what happened. About what you did for me."
"I almost killed him." The confession tears out of me. This whole situation is all my fault. I wanted to flaunt Katriana in front of my brother and look what my actions caused. How stupid of me. "My own brother, Katriana. I wanted to kill him. For pointing that gun at you. For calling you—" I can't repeat the word. "If you hadn't stopped me, I would have."
"I know." She climbs onto the bed, and my whole body tenses. With every movement she makes, I'm gifted with the sight of her beautiful breasts and more. "I saw everything, remember."
That’s the problem. Or part of it. "And you're still here?"
She tilts her head. "I'm still here."
She slowly crawls toward me across the large bed, her eyes never leaving mine. When she's kneeling beside me, close enough to touch but not quite touching, she speaks again.
"I watched you bleed for me today. I watched you put yourself between me and danger without hesitating. Without thinking about what it would cost you."
"It cost me nothing. He’s not the boy I raised anymore. In all honesty, he hasn’t been for a very long time."
"He was your brother. You will mend the broken glass that is keeping you two apart. Some day. Hopefully soon. You have to have that hope."
"He pointed a gun at you." My voice breaks on the words. "Blood means nothing after that when it comes to you. I meant what I told him. I'll pick you every time."
Her hand reaches out, touching my face. Her thumb brushes over the cut on my lip that's scabbed over but still tender.
She nods slowly. "I've spent years feeling like a transaction. Like my body was currency to be traded for debts I didn't owe. Jonah made me feel like I was broken for having boundaries. Victor made me feel like I was property."
"You're neither of those things."
