Shaylin laughs through her tears, squeezing his other hand.“We know, baby.We know.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
One monthlater
Xavier
“Careful,” I warn as Zach tries to lift the box of my medical journals.“You’re still healing.”
He gives me that look, the one that’s equal parts amusement and stubbornness, and proceeds to pick up the box anyway.“I’m fine, X.The doctor cleared me for normal activity last week.”
I bite my tongue, watching him for any signs of discomfort.The scar on his side is still pink and tender, a permanent reminder of how close I came to losing him.But he’s right, his recovery has been nothing short of miraculous.The doctors called it determination; Butcher called it Kennedy stubbornness.
“Normal activity doesn’t mean moving your boyfriend into your apartment,” I point out, following him into the bedroom of our place above the garage.
“Pretty sure it does,” he counters, setting the box down with barely a wince.“Besides, your lease was up, and this makes more sense.”
I can’t argue with his logic.After spending every night at the hospital during his recovery, then every day at the clubhouse helping with his physical therapy, the thought of returning to my empty apartment lost all appeal.When Zach suggested I move in, it felt like the most natural progression in the world.
“That’s the last of it,” I say, looking around at the boxes stacked neatly against the wall.My life, condensed into cardboard containers, now merging with his.
Zach moves toward me, his movements still slightly careful but gaining fluidity each day.His hands find my waist, pulling me against him with gentle insistence.“So,” he says, voice dropping to that register that still sends shivers down my spine, “officially moved in.”
“Officially,” I agree, my hands automatically sliding up his chest, careful to avoid the left side where the bullet tore through him.
His eyes darken as he watches my cautious touch.“I’m not going to break, Xavier.”
“I know,” I say, though we both hear the uncertainty in my voice.Since his release from the hospital, I’ve been treating him like glass, terrified of causing him pain, of reopening wounds barely healed.
“Do you?”he challenges softly, his hands tightening on my waist.“Because I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten what it feels like when I’m inside you.”
Heat rushes through me at his words, pooling low in my belly.It’s been a month, a month of chaste kisses and careful touches, of sleeping beside him without really touching him.A month of wanting and denying and worrying.
“Zach,” I start, not even sure what I’m going to say.
He doesn’t give me the chance to figure it out.His mouth claims mine with none of the hesitation I’ve shown, his kiss demanding and hungry in a way that instantly awakens every nerve ending in my body.I respond instinctively, arms wrapping around his neck as I press closer.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my lips when we break for air.“Stop treating me like I’m dying and start treating me like I’m yours.”
The words strike a chord deep within me.I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, seeing the familiar heat there, but also a vulnerability he rarely shows.“I’m scared,” I admit, the confession leaving me in a rush.“Every time I close my eyes, I see you bleeding out in my arms.”
His expression softens, one hand coming up to cup my face.“I’m right here, X.I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t promise that,” I whisper, the fear that’s been my constant companion since that day finally finding a voice.“Nobody can.”
“No,” he agrees, his thumb tracing my bottom lip.“But I can promise you right now.This moment.And I want this moment to include you naked and underneath me.”
A surprised laugh escapes me, the blunt declaration so perfectly Zach that it cuts through my anxiety.“Romantic as always, Slaughter.”
His answering smile is slow and full of promise.“You want romance, Doc?I can do romance.”
Before I can respond, he’s lifting me, a smooth motion that belies his recent injury, and carrying me the few steps to our bed.He sets me down gently, following suit until he’s hovering over me, his weight supported on his arms.
“Is this okay?”he asks, suddenly serious.“We can wait if you’re not ready.”
The concern in his eyes, the care he’s taking despite his own obvious desire, makes something in my chest expand until I can barely breathe.This man, this fierce, protective, gentle man, is mine.And I’ve been keeping him at arm’s length out of fear.
“It’s more than okay,” I tell him, reaching up to pull him closer.“I need you, Zach.I’ve needed you for weeks.”
