“Warm enough?” he asks.
I turn my head to look at him, finding his eyes already on me, soft and concerned in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
“Mhmm.”
I hold his gaze, the space between us feeling both extremely vast and impossibly small. I want him to close this gap until our bodies are touching but I don’t know how to ask him. How do Ieven deserve anything he’s done for me after I stormed out on him less than an hour ago? None of this is fair to him.
“What are you overthinking about?” His words drift between us like a feather in the air.
“Everything,” I admit, my voice barely audible above the rain. “I’m overthinking everything.”
He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. “Like what?”
“Like how I ran away from you earlier,” I say, swallowing hard. “Like how you still brought me in from the rain and took care of me anyway.” I shake my head against the pillow. “Like how I’ve been short with you since the day we met, always guarded when you’ve been anything but, and I’m just…” I sigh. “I don’t see how I deserve anything you’ve given me, but you’ve been so kind to me, over and over again.”
His expression softens. “That’s what people do when they care about someone, Sutton.” He shifts a little closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. “And there’s nothing unfair about needing space when you’re triggered. You don’t owe me any explanations. Not about your past, not about your triggers. Not about anything.”
My chest tightens with an emotion I can’t name, and I try to swallow back my nerves and negative thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Can you…” I start, then hesitate, feeling suddenly shy. “Would you hold me?”
I feel his body relax beside me. “There’s nothing I want to do more. Of course, I’ll hold you. Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms. “Turn around.”
I do as he says and face away from him. He positions himself behind me, one arm under my neck, and his other hand pulling me against him, my back to his chest. My T-shirt being too large, though, his hand slips under the fabric and touches my skin and he freezes. “Shit, I’m sorry. I?—”
“No.” I cover his hand with mine as it rests on the bare skin of my stomach. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I like it there.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod against his arm. “I’m safe with you, Shepherd.”
He exhales against my neck, his breath warm and gentle as his fingers spread across my torso. His hand is large enough to span most of my midsection, and the weight of it grounds me in a way I didn’t expect.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear but not quite touching. He leans over me just enough to place a tender kiss near my temple and then snuggles into me, his body curled protectively around mine, creating a fortress where, for the first time in years, I feel truly sheltered, protected, and seen.
For a while, we just lie there, breathing together, listening to the rain. His thumb traces slow circles on my stomach, each gentle movement sending tiny ripples of warmth through me. It’s not sexual—though my body responds to his touch in ways I can’t control—but comforting in a way I’ve never experienced before. The feeling that washes over me is so profound, it’s almost overwhelming.
I’m safe here.
In Shepherd’s arms.
And I want to be here.
And that thought ignites something deep within me. With each breath, each gentle circle his thumb traces on my skin, a yearning builds. Not just desire, but a desperate need to reclaim something that was taken from me. To feel touch that heals rather than hurts. To replace memories of rough hands and cruel words with something tender and genuine.
I shift slightly, pressing against him. His breath catches, just barely, but I feel his body stiffen behind me.
“Shepherd,” I murmur into the darkness, my voice trembling slightly.
“Hmm?” His response vibrates through his chest to my back.
I take his hand and slowly guide it higher beneath the oversized T-shirt, my heart hammering so loudly I’m certain he can hear it. His palm stills just below my breast, not moving farther.
“Sutton?” There’s a question in his voice, concern mixed with something deeper.
“Will you touch me?” I whisper, the words catching in my throat as the storm outside swallows the sound. “Please.”
