Bastion’s curtains are open, allowing some of the light from the city to filter into his room. It’s dim, but I can make him out on the bed, thrashing around, the bed sheets twisted. His eyes are closed, and he’s screaming, “No, no, no.”
“Bastion!” I rush to the side of the bed and stand for a beat, unsure what to do.
Are you supposed to wake people up when they’re having a nightmare? Will that make it worse?
But then he screams again, his face contorted as though he’s being tortured, and I can’t take seeing him in agony anymore.
I crawl over to him and place one hand on his shoulder to try to get him to stop moving and one on his cheek. “Bastion, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” He fights me a bit, so I apply more pressure. “Bastion, wake up!”
His eyes pop open. At first there’s a look of horror in his eyes, then he blinks and comes back to himself. His chest heaves up and down as he sucks in air and stares at me.
“You were having a bad dream.”
“What… what are you doing in here?” His voice is hoarse as he slides up his bed to rest his back against the headboard.
Suddenly, I realize that I’m in bed with him and he’s shirtless, wearing only his boxers. I can’t help but admire the lean muscles of his body. When his eyes drag over me, I remember that I only wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of underwear to bed.
“I’m sorry I barged in, but you were screaming. You were having a nightmare.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Right, yeah. I remember now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I run my hand down his cheek the same way my mom always does to me. I’ve always found the gesture comforting, and I’m hoping he might too.
He goes rigid, then closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “No, it’s enough to relive it. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I frown, wondering what part of his past was traumatizing enough to cause that kind of nightmare. Pulling my hand away, I shift to move off the bed, but Bastion reaches for my wrist.
“Stay with me?”
My mouth goes dry. On one hand, I want to stick around to offer him comfort and make sure he’s okay. On the other hand, I’ve never slept in the same bed as a man. But the lingering fear in his eyes has me nodding and moving closer to him.
I lie back on a pillow, and when he pulls the blankets back up from where they ended up at the end of the bed, I can’t help but admire the muscles in his back. My nipples pebble under the cotton T-shirt, and I shift onto my side so that my back will be to him. I’m not here to ogle him.
I feel Bastion shifting into place behind me, getting comfortable, and his arm slides around my waist, pulling my back to his front. All the air in my lungs remains trapped there for a minute.
He moves his face into the crook of my neck. “Is this okay?”
I should tell him no, tell him I’m going back to my room. But I can’t. It feels too good—both physically and emotionally—so I nod and relax into his hold.
Darkness sets in minutes later.
I wake up in almost the same position, except now I can feel the rigid length of Bastion’s erection pushing against my underwear. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I arch my hips.
He groans from behind me, and I still. “No, don’t stop.” His voice is rough with sleep.
When I realize I want to do it again, the familiar shame that comes with a realization like that pushes into my thoughts, but I force myself to ignore it. This is exactly what Bastion meantwhen he said I should feel comfortable exploring my sexuality and figuring out what it means to me.
And I want to. In this moment, I want to so badly.
I arch my pelvis again, and this time, he arches his hips into me. A low moan leaves my throat, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
Bastion’s arm comes around me and pulls my hand away. “I want to hear every sound you make. Don’t you dare censor yourself.”
His words hit their mark when I realize that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. For years, I’ve been censoring myself, rather than figuring out who I am.
I arch my hips again as Bastion trails his nose through my hair and the side of my neck. His hand comes to rest on my hip, and he squeezes, pulling me back into him. My heart is a bass drum, and my breathing comes out in fast pants.
“Will you let me make you feel good, Hattie?”
