Fast.
Three long strides closed the distance between us before I could react.
And then—
He pulled me into him.
Carefully.
Almost... reverently.
One arm wrapped around my back, the other bracing me in a way that avoided every injury without me having to guide him.
Like he’d memorized where I was hurt just from looking.
Like he’d been paying attention all along.
My breath caught.
His hold tightened.
For the first time—
He held me like I mattered.
Really mattered.
I could hear his heartbeat, strong and uneven against my ear. Faster than it should have been.
My hands hovered for a second before settling lightly against his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric without thinking.
When he finally spoke, his voice had quieted, the fury gone.
“You were never touched?” he asked again, disbelief lacing every word.
After all, the Spanish were notorious for acts like that.
I straightened slightly despite the ache in my ribs.
“Never,” I said.
Then, firmer—“Not once.”
The words didn’t waver this time.
I made sure they didn’t.
Silence stretched again.
Taut.
Then—
A sharp buzz cut through the room.
Once.
Twice.
