She gasps. Her eyes perk with fire. "I am?"
"Yes. And I need you to go to sleep, now, as you promised."
Her eyelids flutter, heavy and uneven. She deadpans, "I suppose I am a bit tired. But you won't leave me?"
I cup the side of her face with a steadiness I don't feel. "I'm not going anywhere until you're safe."
Her eyes fill with something soft and disbelieving, as if no one has ever said that to her in her entire life. She whispers, "Promise?"
My chest cracks. "I promise."
She sags into me again, and this time, I lift her before she can fall, my arms sliding under her half-limp body. Her head drops onto my shoulder, warm and unbearably trusting. Her hand curls weakly into my shirt.
Her breath ghosts along my neck, and my stomach tightens with a dark, heavy pull I have to fight down.
She's so damn beautiful, exhausted, vulnerable, and too trusting. She has no idea what she does to me.
I'm fucked.
This has to stop.
"This way," I murmur, guiding her toward the bedroom, hoping she can't feel the tremor running through me.
I kissed her.
I made everything worse.
Now, I have to save her from the fallout and from myself.
Her weight shifts in my arms as I step through the doorway, her cheek sliding a fraction closer against my neck. The soft sound she makes is barely conscious. It hits me low and hard, tightening that dark pull I'm trying so damn hard to ignore.
She has no idea how close I am to losing control around her.
And she never will.
This can't go any further.
I adjust my grip, holding her more securely as I carry her down the short hall. Her legs hang with exhaustion, brushing against my hip with every step. Each tiny movement sends a jolt through me that I have no business feeling.
"Almost there," I murmur, mostly to myself.
Her dim bedroom only has a soft spill of light from the hallway outlining the bed. From fashion magazines strewn on the nightstand, to fabric swatches draped over a chair, to a half-finished sketch on the dresser, the room is unmistakably hers. It's Blue's world and sanctuary. And I'm crossing into it in the most intimate way possible.
She stirs weakly. "Red…"
"I've got you."
The words leave me before I think of them. They come out low, rough, too honest.
I lower her onto the mattress slowly, carefully, making sure her head rests on the pillow. The second my arms release her, her fingers slide blindly across the sheets, like she's searching for me even in her fog.
"Right here," I say, sitting at the edge of the bed so she can feel the mattress shift with my weight.
She exhales, long and heavy, tension draining out of her limbs like she's finally letting herself surrender. Her eyes blink open just enough to find me. "Lie down with me." Her voice is faint, but steady. Not a plea. Not manipulation. Just raw, simple, need.
I have to deny her. The night's already ripped another boundary line into shreds. For my own mental health, I have to be stronger than what I want.
"I'll stay, but like this," I tell her.
