Chapter 12
Charlotte
The soreness in my shoulder pulled me from sleep—a deep ache where the seat belt had caught me yesterday. Then came awareness of the warmth pressed against my back. Arms around me. For a moment, panic flooded my system as I tried to process the unfamiliar sensation.
Male body. In my bed. Holding me.
The memories cascaded back. The car accident. The nightmare that had torn through my sleep, making me relive the impact over and over. Ty’s voice pulling me back to reality. His arms around me as I shook. My plea for him to stay—not on the couch, but here. With me.
After that kiss in my kitchen last night—God, that kiss that had scrambled every logical circuit in my brain—after he’d made me dinner and looked at me like I was more than just a malfunctioning computer that needed debugging, everything had felt wrong and right simultaneously.
When the nightmare tore me from sleep, I’d begged him to stay. Not on the couch where it would have been appropriate, professional, safe. No, I’d asked him into my bed like some desperate, needy person I didn’t recognize.
He’d maintained boundaries, staying on top of the covers while I’d curled against him, shaking and confused by my own need for physical comfort. I’d never needed anyone before. Never wanted someone’s arms around me. The desire for that contact was foreign, overwhelming, terrifying in its intensity.
My body had betrayed every principle of self-sufficiency I’d built my life on, pressing against him like a frightened child seeking reassurance. Except it wasn’t childlike at all—it was something else entirely, something that made my skin feel too tight and my thoughts scatter like startled birds.
But now what? I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to just lie in his arms. Yes, I liked it—more than I had any logical reason to—but what was the protocol? My analytical brain needed to understand the parameters.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Ty murmured against my hair, voice rough with sleep.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I’ve never… This isn’t…” I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts into coherent sentences. “I’ve never actually slept beside someone before. The actual sleeping part, I mean.”
He shifted to look down at me, patient, waiting for me to find the words.
“My experience with…physical intimacy is extremely limited.” Heat crept up my neck, but I forced myself to continue. “There was one man in college. Once. But that was more for empirical research purposes than anything else.”
His eyebrows rose. “Empirical research?”
“To see what all the fuss was about.” The heat now crawled up to my face. “It wasn’t worth repeating. The whole thing lasted approximately twelve minutes, and we definitely didn’t sleep in each other’s arms afterward. What would be the purpose of that?”
Ty chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Sometimes it’s nice to just lie in someone’s arms. No purpose needed.”
“That seems inefficient.”
“Not everything needs to be efficient.” He brushed my cheekbone with his thumb, and the simple touch sent electricity through me. “Some things are just about feeling good.”
The way he looked at me—patient, amused, but with heat underneath—made me brave. “Last night, when you kissed me…”
“Yeah?”
“It was nothing like my previous data point. It was…” I searched for words that weren’t clinical. “I want to do it again.”
“For science, right?” His lips quirked.
“No,” I said honestly. “Because I liked it. Because you make me feel things I don’t have frameworks for.”
“Then how about we try it again?”
He studied me for a moment, then leaned down slowly. This kiss was different from last night’s gentle exploration. This had intent. He tangled his hand in my hair, angle changing to deepen the contact. I made that sound again—the one I’d discovered last night—and his grip tightened.
As we lay there in the morning light, kissing led to more kissing, which led to his hands exploring carefully, respectfully, checking my face for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Just wonder at these new sensations, at feeling desired and safe simultaneously.
“I want to make you feel good,” he murmured against my neck, finding that spot below my ear that made me gasp. “Will you let me?”
“Yes,” I breathed, though my heart raced with nervousness. “I want to know what sex is really supposed to feel like.”
“Well, let’s start with some other stuff that can feel just as good.”
He slid his hand down my body with deliberate slowness, giving me time to object.
I didn’t. He skimmed his palm over my sleep shirt, pausing to cup the soft weight of my breast. My breath caught as his thumb found the sensitive peak through the thin fabric, circling gently until I arched into his touch.
“So responsive,” he murmured against my ear, his voice rough with restraint. “I love how honest your body is.”
He tangled his other hand in my hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss the column of my throat. Each press of his lips sent sparks straight through me. When his teeth grazed the spot where my pulse hammered, I couldn’t hold back my gasp.
“Please.” I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for.
“I’ve got you.” His hand left my breast to trail down my stomach, my muscles tensing under his touch. When he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of my pajama pants, I froze briefly, but he stroked my hair soothingly with his other hand.
His eyes met mine, and he gave me a slow smile that had my insides melting. “How about if you don’t worry about thinking. Just feel. Don’t analyze.”
His fingers moved lower, through the curls there, finding me already wet and aching. The first brush of his fingertips against that sensitive bundle of nerves made me jolt, a gasp escaping my lips.
“Too much?” he asked, pulling back slightly.
“No,” I managed. “Just…intense.”
He smiled. “That’s the idea.”
His touch was gentle at first, exploratory, learning what made me gasp, what made me arch against him.
Slow circles that built heat low in my belly.
A firmer pressure that made my hips rock involuntarily.
When he slipped one finger inside me, then two, while his thumb maintained that maddening rhythm, I clutched at his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze.
The intensity there, the focus entirely on my pleasure, made everything sharper.
He watched my face intently, adjusting his movements based on my responses.
When he curled his fingers just so while increasing the pressure of his thumb, I cried out, my whole body tightening.
“That’s it,” he encouraged when my breathing grew ragged. “Just let go, beautiful. Let me see you come apart.”
His words—calling me beautiful—combined with the skilled movement of his hand, pushed me over the edge. The sensation built slowly, then all at once, like a wave cresting.
Everything in me coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped, pleasure radiating out from where he touched me in waves that seemed to go on forever. I shattered apart, crying out against his shoulder, my body clenching around his fingers as he worked me through it, drawing out every last tremor.
I had no idea how long I lay there. All I could do was feel. Coherent thoughts were impossible.
“You doing okay?” He kissed softly up my arm.
“That was…” The sound came out as a squeak, so I started again. “That was significantly different from my previous experience. Nothing clinical about it.”
Ty laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Good. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
I lay there for long minutes, trying to get my physiological systems back under control.
As my breathing slowly returned to normal, I became increasingly aware of his body still pressed against mine.
The tension in his muscles. The careful way he was holding himself still.
And something else—hard and insistent against my hip that made my recently satiated body spark with renewed interest.
He was still aroused. Obviously, significantly aroused.
My analytical brain immediately began calculating the imbalance in our current situation. He’d given me this incredible experience, shown me what my body was capable of feeling, and received nothing in return. That seemed fundamentally unfair.
“Ty?” I shifted slightly, and I felt him tense. “You’re still… I mean, you haven’t…” I pressed my lips together, frustrated by my inability to find appropriate terminology. Finally, I defaulted to logic. “Reciprocity would suggest that I should do something for you.”
He kissed me again, soft and sweet. “Another time. This morning was about you.”
“That seems inequitable.”
“Not everything needs to be balanced like an equation, remember.” He sat up, creating necessary distance. “Besides, you need real food.”
I didn’t want to move. Wanted to stay in this warm cocoon where the outside world and all its dangers couldn’t reach us. But my stomach growled, betraying me, and Ty chuckled.
“Come on,” he said, tugging gently at my hand. “Let me feed you.”
We got out of bed eventually, though my legs felt unsteady.
I pulled on a robe while Ty headed to the kitchen, and I could hear him moving around, opening cabinets, finding pans.
The domesticity of it made something warm unfurl in my chest. When I joined him, he was already whisking eggs, the coffeemaker gurgling to life.
“Omelet?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“You’re spoiling me,” I said, perching on a stool at the counter.
“You deserve to be spoiled.” He said it matter-of-factly, like it was just truth, not flattery. The simple statement made my throat tight.
I watched him work, his movements efficient but relaxed. The morning sun caught the highlights in his brown hair, and I found myself memorizing this moment—Ty Hughes making breakfast in my kitchen like he belonged there.
“I should probably go to the lab today,” I said, though every part of me protested the idea.
“You don’t want to?”
“No,” I admitted. “Normally, I love getting lost in my work there, but it’s been hard lately.
Having you there has been distracting—everyone watches us.
They like the drama.” I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them.
“But even beyond that, I feel like everyone’s constantly waiting for updates from me, needing things. I’m drowning.”
“So, work from home.” He flipped the omelet expertly. “You’ve still got the countermeasure drive and what you need, so work from here.”
“You really think I should?”
“I think you’ll get more done. But there’s another reason I think you should work from home. Beyond just the interruptions.”
Something in his tone made my chest tighten. “What do you mean?”
He set the plate in front of me but didn’t let go of it yet, meeting my eyes. “Yesterday’s accident. I need to show you something.”
My appetite vanished. “What about it?”
“I had a friend pull the traffic camera footage last night while you were sleeping.” He took out his phone, setting it on the counter between us. “You need to see this. Watch the black truck.”
The truck waited at the side of the intersection for a long time, over thirty minutes, according to the time stamp zooming by. Ty turned it to real speed just before the accident when the truck accelerated directly into my driver’s side door at the perfect moment.
“You were definitely targeted,” Ty said quietly.
My hands shook. “But the police said it might not—”
“The police don’t have all the information.” He set the phone down. “That vehicle sat there and waited for you to come through. They knew you were coming, even though you normally wouldn’t leave work for hours. Eat your omelet.”
I took a bite. “Why were they there so early?”
“I think someone at the lab fed them the information. Someone told them you left early.”
My omelet turned to ash in my mouth. “Someone from my team?”
“Maybe, but not definitely. I’m going to keep narrowing things down. What’s important now is that you get the stabilizer code done before the deadline. If working from here makes that quicker, then that’s what we do.”
We both finished our breakfast in silence. I touched my sore cheek, the thought that someone I worked with had caused this, hadn’t cared that I might have been really injured, making me a little queasy. Outside of Darcy, I wasn’t actual friends with any of them, but we were all friendly.
At least, I’d thought we’d been friendly enough that none of them wanted to almost kill me.
“Hey.” He brushed a hand down the back of my head. “It’s going to be okay, beautiful.”
That word again. “Why do you keep calling me that? My features are not classically beautiful. My eyes are slightly asymmetric. My bottom lip is a little too large to match the upper.”
He reached in and kissed me. “Still beautiful. Now let’s get to work.”