Page 143 of Operation: Defiance

Asher nods, and I shift forward slightly.

When his palm settles over the space between my shoulder blades, a hard tremor runs through me. I brace for panic. For pain. For my vision to go glassy and someone to tighten the hood around my neck.

There’s only warmth. The bruises ache, but the longer his hand rests over them, the more the ache softens instead of sharpening.

Ten seconds. Twelve. Fourteen. My ribs stay quiet. My mind stays present.

“Still okay?” he asks.

“Yes.” My voice doesn’t shake. Neither do my hands. “It’s…nice.”

We don’t move for a long time. Long enough I forget I’m supposed to be grounding myself with my toes.

I still don’t have much sense of time, but five, maybe ten minutes pass? When I tell him I’m done, he lifts his hand immediately. The loss is…distinct.

It’s not absence or pain. More like the memory of where he was left an imprint on my skin.

“Lower now.” I can’t look at him. If I do, this moves faster than I’m ready for.

“You’re sure?” His voice is deeper now. Rough at the edges.

“Right above my waistband.” I glance up at him for just a beat. I need the data. What he looks like in this moment. What he sees from me.

His jaw flexes once. He’s holding himself still. His hand hasn’t moved from his thigh.

“Asher, I want this.” The truth of those four words settles deep in my chest. Along with shock. I shouldn’t want anyone to touch me after what I’ve been through.

His palm finds the new spot. Same contact. Same warmth. I only realize after he settles that I didn’t brace.

My breathing slows. It’s deeper now. More relaxed than it’s been in a long time. I map everything. The span of his fingers. The exact pressure he’s applying. The way I think he’s holding back. The slight shift of his thumb.

I wonder what it would feel like to have his arms around me. Not to stop me from falling. Not because I can’t walk.

A hug.

My pulse kicks briefly. No. Not that. Not yet. But…

“Can I—?” A flush spreads from my chest up to my cheeks.

Asher removes his hand, sitting up straighter, brows drawn tight. “What is it?”

“Can I touch you?”

His pupils widen, lips press together, and he swallows hard. “Yes.”

I let my gaze sweep over his body, finally landing on his forearm. He’s rolled up his sleeves, and the muscles shift as he flexes his fingers once on his leg.

My fingers hover just over the skin. Close enough I can catalog his warmth. And the way he stays perfectly still. Guarded. His body coiled tight enough he’s practically vibrating.

I close what’s left of the distance and let my hand rest on his arm. There’s a light dusting of reddish brown hair under my palm. A faint scar near where my thumb sits above his wrist.

A tremor ripples under my fingers, then stills almost immediately.

I slide my hand up his arm, tracking the change in his breathing with every inch. His shoulders go straight. Almost rigid.

“Do you need me to stop?” Panic spikes, clogging my throat until he shakes his head.

“Not unless you want to.” His voice is rougher now.