Climbing in behind her, I pulled her back against my chest, tucking her under my chin.
Tomorrow, I’d get Tacoma to call church so Cyber could start pulling apart every email, every letter, every text the sick fuck had ever sent her. “Get some sleep, Hattie.”
“Love you, Weston,” she mumbled, already half gone.
I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in.
“Love you too, baby.”
Chapter Eleven
Hattie Lynn
The first thingI registered when I woke up was the warmth at my back.
The second was the heavy tattooed arm draped over my waist, holding me against a wall of solid muscle like I might disappear if he loosened his grip.
Weston.
I tipped my head back, taking him in. He was still asleep, his thick dark hair a rumpled mess against the pillow, his jaw shadowed with morning stubble, those ridiculously long lashes fanned out over his cheeks.
God, he was even more handsome like this. Sleep-soft and unguarded. All those hard edges he wore like armor were gone.
He was mine.
The words floated through my mind, and I waited for the panic to come. The doubt. The little voice that had spent eight years telling me to protect my heart at all costs.
It never showed.
Instead, I just felt... peace. Like I’d finally stopped running, and my soul had caught up to my body.
I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and traced my fingertip along the line of his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against my skin.
“Mornin’, Songbird,” he whispered roughly, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Morning,” I whispered.
His eyes cracked open, and a lazy smile spread across his face.
“You’re really here,” he rasped, like he couldn’t believe it. “I was half convinced I dreamed the whole damn thing.”
“Nope.” I wiggled closer. “I’m really here.”
“Thank fuck.” He rolled, caging me under his big body, careful to keep his weight on his good arm as he kissed me.
It wasn’t a polite good-morning peck, either. It was deep and slow and thorough, like he had all the time in the world and planned on using every second of it.
By the time he pulled back, I was breathless.
“I missed you,” he murmured against my lips. “Missed waking up next to you. I could get used to this real fast.”
I melted into the mattress like butter.
“Me too,” I admitted, running my hands up the warm skin of his back.
He dipped his head, kissing along my jaw, down the column of my throat, and I was just starting to think we might not leave this bed until noon when my stomach let out a growl loud enough to wake the dead.
Weston froze.
