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“Fawn,” I say her name while looking down at her.

At the sound of my voice, her eyes open just enough for me to see the gold in her brown irises, glazed with sleep and confusion. She blinks up at me, and it’s like she forgets to be afraid. Right now, I’m the one who has her full attention, the only guy holding her hand like it means something.

“You’re cold,” she whispers, letting her thumb brush across my swollen knuckles.

“You’re not.”

She turns her head and looks at our fingers tangled together, before turning her attention back.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” she says.

“Not tonight. Not ever.”

She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war that’s happening behind her eyes.

“So why are you shaking?” she asks.

I look down at my trembling hand.

“Because,” I say, giving her a small but real smile, “I’m trying hard not to kiss you right now, and I’m not used to having to work this hard at anything.”

Her breath catches, and her fingers tighten in mine.

“Then don’t try.”

I lean in slowly, giving her every second to change her mind or push me away. She doesn’t. Instead, she tilts her chin up, closing her eyes as my lips meet hers.

She tastes like exhaustion and something sweeter underneath, making my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with violence. She’s hesitant at first, but finally allows herself to accept me, making a small sound against my mouth as I deepen the kiss.

I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. “We should stop.”

“Should we?” she asks, and there’s the faintest hint of a laugh in her voice, the first time I’ve heard anything like that from her.

“No.” I kiss her again, but harder this time, and she arches up into it, her free hand fisting the front of my shirt. “Fuck no, we shouldn’t stop.”

Her thigh slides against my hip, and I groan into her mouth, the sound escaping without my permission.

“Tell me to stop,” I breathe against her jaw, trailing kisses down her throat and over the pulse point I was noticing earlier. It jumps under my tongue, frantic and alive. “Tell me to go back to the couch, and I will.”

She doesn’t say anything, only arches her neck, giving me more access. Her fingers reach for the hem of my shirt, tracing the scar on my ribs. “I don’t want you on the couch.”

“Then what do you want?”

She looks back at me, and I see the desperation.

“I want,” she says, and her voice breaks, “to not think about anything, even if it’s just for a little bit. Can you do that? Can you make me not think?”

I nod and kiss her again, slower, deeper, letting my hand slide down her side to the hem of her shirt, pausing as I rest my palm flat against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” I say against her mouth. “I can do that.”

She lifts her arms, and I pull the shirt over her head. The streetlight catches the sharp lines of her collarbones, the delicate structure of a body that’s been carrying way too much for too long. But I don’t see any of that. I see her as the only thing I’ve ever wanted, because she is, and because she deserves to be looked at that way. And by someone who would burn the world down to keep her safe.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Fawn.” I’m confused when I see her flinch.

“Don’t.”

“Too bad.” I kiss the hollow of her neck, down to the scar on her collarbone that I haven’t noticed until now. “You’re beautiful, and you’re mine, and I’m going to keep saying it until you believe it.”

“I’m not…”