And not doing a damn thing to stop it.
CHAPTER 18
Dexter
The scent of amber and orange blossom fills my lungs before I’m even fully awake, warm and soft and everywhere.
I open my eyes slowly and find Lexy asleep, her head resting on my legs, Marvel curled up against her like he’s claimed his spot for the night.
For a second, I don’t move.
I just… look at her.
Memory slides back in piece by piece. Ant-Man playing, her voice getting quieter, her body slowly relaxing against mine until she drifted off. I remember pulling her closer without thinking, adjusting her so she wouldn’t wake up uncomfortable, telling myself I’d carry her to bed when the movie ended.
Just a minute.
Just until the credits roll.
Yeah.
That didn’t happen.
I must’ve fallen asleep too.
My gaze lingers on her face, softer like this, unguarded in a way I haven’t seen before, and before I can stop myself, my handlifts, brushing a stray strand of her blonde hair away from her cheek.
Her skin is warm under my fingers, her hair spread across my legs, and like this… she looks younger.
Fragile.
Too damn fragile.
The memory of the bruises on her throat hits me out of nowhere, followed by the sound of her voice in those fever dreams, broken, scared, reliving something she never let me see in daylight.
Something inside my chest pulls tight, sharper than I expect.
She never told me what happened.
I never asked.
But the need to know, to find whoever put that fear in her, runs through me fast and ugly, settling into something that feels a little too close to rage.
I drag a hand over my face.
I need to get up.
I need distance.
Because the way she’s lying here, trusting, close, her weight resting against me like it belongs there, does something I don’t like.
Or maybe I like it too much.
Carefully, I shift, sliding a pillow under her head where my legs were. She stirs slightly, lips parting as she exhales, but she doesn’t wake. Marvel lifts his head, watches me for a second, then curls tighter against her.
Yeah.
I get it little dude.
