“I’m not sure what I am anymore,” I admitted, the words feeling like they were being dragged out of me. “But I... when I saw you today, I...”
I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t admit out loud what my body had already confessed down by that creek.
But I didn’t have to. I saw the realization dawn in Dante’s eyes, saw the way his breath caught.
“Nick,” he breathed, and it really did sound like a prayer.
“I… I’m tired,” I said suddenly, pushing myself up from the table. “Thanks for the pasta.”
I didn’t wait for his response as I retreated to the bedroom. I needed to be alone. Needed to think. Everything was changing so fast and I felt like if I didn’t get away from him, it would swallow me whole.
Chapter 14
Dante
My ribs woke me up in the middle of the night again, the pain duller than it had been, but still throbbing. At first, I tried to just ignore the pain and go back to sleep. But the longer I laid there, the more something seemed off. When I finally tried to reach for my medication on the bedside table, I realized what was wrong.
Nick was wrapped around me, his breath hot on the back of my neck.
In my drowsy state I hadn’t realized he was so close. He had an arm draped over my waist and a leg snaked between mine. His breathing was slow and steady, so I knew he was asleep. Of course he was. Nick never would’ve cuddled with me like this knowingly.
I froze, every muscle in my body going rigid despite the protest from my ribs. Part of me wanted to shift away, to put distance between us before he woke up and realized what he was doing. But a larger, more selfish part of me wanted to stay exactly where I was.
This was the closest we’d been since our wedding at the courthouse. The most intimate, even if it was accidental. And it felt...good. His body was warm against mine, solid and real in away that made my chest ache with something that had nothing to do with fractured bones.
I should’ve moved. Should’ve extracted myself carefully and let him wake up on his own, preserving whatever dignity he had left. But instead, I found myself memorizing the feeling—the weight of his arm across my waist, the way his leg fit between mine, the soft puffs of his breath against my neck.
When would I get another chance like this? When would Nick Wesley willingly touch me, hold me, let himself be vulnerable enough to seek comfort in my presence?
Never. That’s when. Because he was straight, and confused, and only in this marriage because I’d forced his hand. This moment was a fluke, his sleeping brain forgetting that he was supposed to hate me.
I carefully reached for my medication with my free hand, the one that wasn’t trapped under his arm. The movement made him stir slightly, and I held my breath, waiting for him to wake up and pull away with disgust.
But he didn’t. Instead, he made a soft sound in his sleep and tightened his grip on me, pulling himself closer. His nose pressed against the back of my neck, and I felt him breathe in deeply, like he was memorizing my scent.
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it would wake him. This was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture. Having him this close, feeling wanted even if it was just his subconscious seeking warmth in the night. Even the random hookups back in Newark never made me feel like this. This felt almost…sacred.
I managed to get the pill bottle open one-handed, shaking out a tablet and dry swallowing it. The water glass was too far away, and I wasn’t about to risk the movement it would take to reach it.
The medication would kick in soon. I just had to wait. Just had to lie here with Nick wrapped around me like I was something precious, something worth holding onto.
I closed my eyes, letting myself have this. Just for a few minutes. Just until the pain faded, or he woke up. Whichever came first.
His hand, which had been resting on my stomach, moved slightly. His fingers splayed wider, and I could feel the calluses from ranch work rough against my skin through my t-shirt. Then his thumb started moving in slow, unconscious circles.
Was he awake? Was this intentional?
I didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe. I just lay there, every nerve ending in my body focused on that thumb drawing lazy patterns on my abdomen.
“Dante,” he mumbled against my neck, his voice thick with sleep.
Fuck. He was dreaming about me.
“Yeah?” I whispered back, not sure if I should respond or stay quiet.
His only answer was to press closer, his hips shifting against my ass in a way that made heat pool low in my gut despite the pain medication starting to work its way through my system. I could feel him, half-hard against me, and the knowledge that his body wanted this even if his conscious mind didn’t was almost too much to bear.
I should wake him up. Should tell him what he was doing, give him the chance to pull away before this went any further. But I was a selfish bastard, and I wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted to pretend just for a moment that this was real.
