Chapter 92 Morgan
Morgan
Ruby’s soft breathing filled the room, the rise and fall of her blanket steady against the couch cushions. She’d drifted off again, exhaustion finally pulling her under.
Damian’s hand was still clasped around mine, his grip strong despite the tremor beneath it.
I studied him in the lamplight—the bruises shadowing his jaw, the split at his lip, the new bandage straining at his shoulder.
He looked like a man who’d been through hell.
And still, somehow, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“You should lie down,” I whispered, not wanting to wake Ruby.
His eyes softened. “Only if you’re there with me.”
I swallowed, my heart tightening. Without a word, I tugged him toward the bedroom. He didn’t resist, didn’t posture like the soldier who always carried the weight of the world. He just let me lead.
Inside, I eased him onto the edge of the bed, stripping away his boots, the remnants of battle clinging to him. He winced as I pulled his shirt over his head, and I bit back the urge to cry. Instead, I kissed the uninjured side of his chest, right over his heart.
“You’re reckless,” I murmured against his skin. “Reckless and stubborn and impossible.”
“And yours,” he rasped, his fingers threading into my hair.
That undid me. “And all mine.”
I slid into his lap, careful of his injuries, and kissed him slow, lingering, letting the world fall away. His hands cupped my face, calloused and gentle, pulling me deeper until the kiss turned desperate.
When I pushed him back onto the mattress, he didn’t fight me. He let me take the lead, let me undress him piece by piece, my hands reverent over every scar, every mark of survival. Under the thin wash of light, he wasn’t just the soldier anymore—he was mine.
We moved together quietly, the kind of intimacy that was less about urgency and more about finding each other again. Every kiss was an anchor. Every touch was a promise. When he groaned my name, muffling it against my throat, I felt the truth of it in every fiber of me.
Afterward, I curled against him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His arm wrapped around me, heavy and protective, his breath warm against my hair.
For a long moment, there was no Luthor, no cages, no missions waiting to explode. There was just Damian. The man who kept his promises. The man who came back.
“Sleep,” he whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’ve got you.”
And with Ruby safe in the next room, and his arms holding me tight, I finally believed him.