He buries himself close, holding me there as the last tremor runs through him, like letting go costs more than he expected. For a moment neither of us moves. The world narrows to shared breath and pounding hearts, to the warmth still humming beneath my skin.
His forehead lowers to my shoulder, damp hair brushing my neck as he exhales, deep and uneven. The edge slowly drains from his body, but not the hold. One arm is now wrapped around me, firm, grounding, like he isn’t ready to trust the night without anchoring himself to something real.
To me.
I’m breathless, light-headed, suspended somewhere between floating and falling, held there by his heat, his presence, the quiet certainty of his arms. My body feels heavy in the best way, like I’ve been set down exactly where I belong.
My eyes flutter, grow heavy, the night softening around the edges. Sleep tugs gently, insistently, and I don’t fight it. There is nowhere else I want to be. Nowhere safer. Nowhere warmer.
Held. Claimed. Unwilling to leave the circle of him.
And as the city murmurs far below, I let the moment close around us, knowing something has shifted, knowing there will be no turning back.
Chapter Twenty
Khai
I stay there with her pressed against the glass long after the rain begins to soften, long after my breathing finally steadies. The city hums somewhere below us, distant and irrelevant. She’s held upright by one arm, tucked between me and the window like she belongs there, warm, pliant, trusting.
Carefully, without shifting her more than necessary, I reach down and pull my jeans back into place one-handed, the motion slow and deliberate. I don’t loosen my hold on her. I won’t risk waking her. The aftermath had claimed her gently, her body easing as sleep took her, breath slow and even against my neck.
When the tremor finally leaves my legs, I gather her closer and lift her away from the cold glass. She’s cold from the rain, damp and shivering faintly even in her sleep, and that alone sharpens my focus.
Inside.
I carry her straight into the ensuite and step into the shower, turning the water warm, not hot, until steam curls into the air. When the temperature is right, I move us both under the spray, letting the heat wash over us, chasing the chill from her skin, cocooning us in quiet and warmth.
She stirs in my arms then.
Her head lifts from the crook of my neck, lashes fluttering as she looks up at me, dazed and unfocused. Her cheeks are flushed, lips still swollen from the night, eyes wide and dark as they meet mine.
She’s beautiful like this, unguarded, held, real.
Something tightens deep in my chest, sharp and unexpected.
I adjust my grip, keeping her steady beneath the water, my forehead resting briefly against hers as she settles again, trusting me withouthesitation. The steam thickens, the noise of the shower drowning out everything else.
“Khai,” she whispers.
I don’t answer. I stay where I am, holding her, committing the weight of her in my arms to memory, the curve of her body, the warmth of her skin, the way she fits against me like she always belonged there. I breathe her in, knowing this is a moment I won’t be allowed to forget.
“Khai,” she says again, softer this time.
“Can you stand?” I ask quietly, my voice rougher than I intend. “You’re cold. I need to get you warm. And dry.”
She nods, sluggish but trusting, and slowly unwinds her legs from my waist. Her heels touch the floor, but I don’t let go of her, not yet. My arms remain firm around her middle, steadying her while I force myself to step back.
Letting her go takes more effort than holding her.
I kneel in front of her and reach for the red straps at her ankles, easing her heels off one by one. She braces a hand against the cool marble wall, watching me in silence, eyes heavy, expression open in a way that tightens something deep in my chest. I set the shoes aside and rise again, bringing myself back to my full height.
“Turn around,” I say quietly.
She hesitates for a breath, then does as I ask.
I step in close again, hands returning to her waist like they never meant to leave. I can’t stop touching her. I don’t want to. My fingers find the zipper at the small of her back, and I draw it down slowly, my knuckles brushing warm skin, a deliberate act of restraint.
When I’m finished, she turns back toward me.
