I keep my gaze lowered. Keep forcing air into my lungs, one breath at a time.
I don’t register the sound of movement at first, not until black boots step into my line of sight.
He’s suddenly there. Too close. Invading my space with a quiet certainty that steals what little balance I had left. I don’t retreat. I don’t think I could if I tried.
His hands glide up my arms, the touch impossibly soft for a man who feels carved from violence. His fingers trail over my shoulders, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle, before settling at my neck. Not gripping. Not forcing. Just cradling, his thumbs resting along my jawline like they belong there.
My breath catches.
With a gentle pressure, he tips my chin upward, compelling me to look at him. And the moment our eyes meet, I’m lost. There’s no anger in his gaze now. No restraint either. Just a dark, unwavering focus that feels like possession.
He doesn’t say a word.
He simply steps closer, until my body is almost pressed against his, close enough to feel his warmth, his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Almost touching.
Almost isn’t enough.
He keeps looking at me, his gaze moving over my face slowly, deliberately, as if he’s committing every detail to memory. As if he’s afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t. His thumbs continue their gentle caress along my jaw, grounding and unravelling me all at once.
“Something true?” he murmurs. “Something real?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
“Iremember you at the club,” he continues, his voice low, intimate. “So innocent. The way you watched me. The way that blush crept over your skin like you didn’t know how to hide it.” His eyes darken. “I remember wanting you then. In my arms. Under my touch.”
He licks his lips, slow, deliberate. My breath stutters despite myself.
“I remember how it felt when your hands were pressed to my chest, trying to keep my blood where it belonged. I’d never felt safe before that moment.” His voice drops further. “And when I woke up in the ICU… you were there again. Your hands on me. Your eyes on me. It felt like heaven.”
The pause that follows is heavy. Too long.
“I knew it then,” he says quietly. “At the club. In that hospital bed. And I know it now.” His gaze locks onto mine, unyielding. “You’re mine, Little Heaven. You always have been. Even if you don’t understand it yet.”
My lungs forget how to work. Am I breathing? I’m not sure.
“Some things,” he continues, softer now, almost careful, “I can’t tell you yet. Men like me carry dark things. Deep things. And I want to shield you from them for as long as I can.” His thumb brushes my jaw once more. “That’s all the truth I can give you right now.”
I’m frozen. Completely still. My body feels caught between fear and something far more dangerous.
My tongue darts out instinctively, wetting my lips.
His eyes follow the movement.
His jaw tightens.
“Fuck it,” he murmurs, the words rough, restrained, like a line he’s about to cross and knows it.
Then his mouth crashes into mine.
There’s nothing gentle about it. No hesitation. No softness. It’s all hunger and need, a kiss that steals the air from my lungs and leaves nothing untouched in its wake. It’s demanding. Devastating. Like he’s been holding himself back for far too long and finally stops trying.
My hands fly to his neck, fingers tangling in him as I pull him closer, tilting my head to give him what he wants. Whatwewant. His hands slide down my sides, firm and sure, gripping my waist and dragging me against him. He holds me tight, almost desperately, like letting go might cost him something he can’t afford to lose.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to move. One moment I’m on my feet, the next his hands hook behind my knees and lift me effortlessly. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my legs around him as he pulls me close again, his mouth reclaiming mine like he never meant to let it go.
He carries us to the kitchen counter, lips never leaving mine, the kiss turning slower, deeper, burning in a way that seeps straight into my bones. He sets me down but doesn’t step back, keeping me caged between his body and the counter, his arms braced around me.
When he finally pulls away, it’s only by millimetres. His forehead rests against mine, his breath heavy, uneven. His arms are still holding me, as if he hasn’t quite convinced himself to let go.
