Chapter 32 Elle
Elle
The warmth of the blanket around me and the teacup in my hands is starting to lull me under when I feel that unmistakable, quiet gravity pulling me back up to the surface.
Sterling crosses the room with that effortless grace, except he’s moving a tad too tightly and tense.
He’s trying not to look anxious. But I see it anyway.
I’ve been able to tell after all the wonderful weeks I’ve gotten to spend with him.
He stops in front of me. “Let’s go to bed, Elle,” he says. “You need your rest.”
I blink up at him and nod, setting the half-full mug down carefully.
Kaye appears at our side a second later, tossing Sterling a key with a lazy flick of her wrist. “We repurposed the panic room into a cozy honeymoon suite for you two,” she says, smiling with mischief all over her face.
“Try not to wreck the bed, okay? We recently had to replace it. Dae and I kinda broke the old cot. Sorry, but also don’t ask. ”
Before I can even manage a proper blush, Stan sprawls across the back of the couch beside me, that signature grin already dialed to trouble.
“If there’s room in those soundproof walls for one more,” he drawls, “it wouldn’t be the first time the three of us warmed a bed together.
Hell, best sleep I’ve had in years. I’d be happy to make it a nightly tradition. ”
I bite back a giggle because Sterling goes ice cold and absolutely still. His glare could crack concrete. Stan’s grin only grows wider.
Kaye steps up to the couch. “Stan,” she says in a sweet warning, “if you even breathe in their direction tonight, I’ll tie you to a chair and duct tape your mouth shut. Naked and alone in the living room. I’ll even let Dae take pictures for blackmail.”
Stan gasps, clutching his chest, acting wounded. “First of all, kinky pics of my perfect naked body can’t possibly be blackmail. And Kaye!” he adds, scandalized. “I thought we shared something special!”
“Yeah,” Kaye replies dryly. “A mutual talent for poor decisions.”
Stan pouts and I can’t hold back my giggle this time. It bubbles out of me before I can stop it. Sterling’s head turns at the sound. He’s still tense and probably ready to commit a felony if Stan so much as blinks wrong, but my Sterling’s handsome face softens.
I reach for his hand. He catches it instantly. “Let’s go to bed, my love,” I say, smiling up at him.
Sterling leads me down the hallway, our hands linked. Behind us, Kaye is lecturing Stan, who doesn’t sound sorry at all. I smile, while Sterling squeezes my hand tighter.
The steel door swings open under his touch.
The room’s a lot warmer than I remember.
There’s a bed where the cot used to be, a warm light on the bedside table, and a small dresser in the corner with folded clothes.
It’s no longer a panic room. It’s a bedroom Sterling and I now own. Safe, private, and all ours.
He shuts the door behind us. For a moment, we simply stand there and breathe, the weight of the last heavy hours pressing down.
Then he moves. Sterling pulls his damp shirt over his head in one smooth, careless motion. I lose my train of thought altogether. My eyes take in everything about him. First, his chest, broad and defined, muscles cut and forged from years of forced survival and necessary violence.
His abs are sharp and tight, a ridged line down to the deep, dangerous dip of his hips. His v-line cuts low into the waistband of his jeans, taunting and daring. The dark denim clings to him, worn enough that I can see the unmistakable outline pressing against the fabric.
My mouth goes dry. I swallow hard, heat blooming, helpless to look away. Every part of him is temptation, and somehow all mine.
At his quiet chuckle, my gaze moves to his smirking mouth. I see how his long fringe falls down to his gray eyes. His hair’s ends curl from the rain, making him look untamed, reckless, and touchable in a way that’s almost too much to bear.
His hair’s a lot more silver than black by now, the dye almost entirely gone. I like him better this way. In fact, I love seeing the real him, unhidden, out in the open, and all for me.
He grabs a clean shirt—one of Damon’s, a little too tight across Sterling’s broader shoulders—and shrugs into it with a casual roll of muscle and sinew that makes my thighs tremble.
But it doesn’t hide enough. I know his body all too well now, that even with my eyes closed, I can imagine every line as though my mind’s memorized him without my realization. I’d be happy having him imprinted to every part of me. Though, I’m certain he already is.
When he unzips his pants and pushes them down, his black boxers come into view. I cling tighter to the sheets, pretending it’s about warmth, when really it’s about restraint. Keeping myself from crossing the room and undoing every inch of clothing he has on.
Sterling glances over his shoulder and catches me staring. For half a second, his mouth curves into the widest smile I’ve seen on him.
Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And he likes it. I like it far too much.
Sterling tosses his discarded clothes into the corner with a swift kick, then peels back the covers on the bed, sliding under them with easy movement. He holds the blanket open, waiting for me.
I don’t hesitate for a second. I climb in after him, and let him pull me close until I’m firmly against his side. The warmth of him bleeds into me in an instant.
He shuffles a little, adjusting the blanket higher over my shoulders. He’s fussing in that quiet, gruff way he does when he thinks I won’t notice. “You warm enough?” he mutters.
I nod against his chest, but I know that’s not enough for him.
“You want more tea?” he asks. “I saw some chamomile in the kitchen.”
I smile, soaking up the low rumble of his voice under my cheek.
“I’m good,” I murmur. “You’re better than any tea.”
He huffs a sound that might be a laugh. His hands move gently, guiding me to sprawl across his chest. One arm slides around my waist, the other into my damp hair, combing slow and steady.
I melt into him, feeling so warm that all I want to do is pause time.
Drowsy, I press my cheek to his chest. He kisses the top of my head and whispers, “I’ll be up a while. So if you need anything…”
His body subtly bucks up from under me, and I feel it. He’s up in more ways than one. My smile widens. “I might take you up on that later,” I whisper.
He keeps stroking my hair, patient and gentle, and I hear the unspoken promise in every touch… I’m here. You’re safe.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep is the sound of his steady heart, beating the most comforting sound into my ear.
***
Sterling and I wake up tangled together, breath shared, skin warm, mouths brushing against each other. Our bodies move more from reflex than thought, as though our bodies don’t know how to be apart from each other anymore.
Before breakfast, I find a bottle of vinegar and a box of baking soda tucked behind a line of mismatched spices in the kitchen.
Making a mixture out of it—along with lemon juice a sleepy Stan squeezes for me—it ends up smelling sweet and biting.
I bring the bowl of citrusy paste to Sterling with a thrilled smile on my face, because I can’t wait to strip out the last stubborn traces of dark dye from his hair.
Soon, we’re sitting on the floor of the shower.
I work my fingers through his hair carefully, massaging the mixture in.
Then I rinse him clean, and little by little, the false color runs down the drain, revealing the real silver-white underneath.
He watches me the entire time, with a fierce look in his gray eyes that makes my heart thunder.
He peels my clothes off, and we end up using all of the hot water while making love under the spray of the shower.
Time blurs around us, slipping through our fingers like comforting fog. We move through the days like they finally belong to us. Somewhere in this welcome quiet, it feels like we’re building a life the world can’t touch this time around.
Sterling and I shower together every morning, lost in the steam and the feel of each other.
Hands roam. Mouths meet. Some days, it’s tender.
Others, it’s heat and teeth and need. Sometimes we make it to the bed.
Sometimes the shower wall becomes our haven.
Either way, we get frequent complaints that Sterling and I have hogged all of the hot water.
Mostly from Stan, which only makes Sterling smirk cockily. It’s a good look on him.
Outside our love nest, the safe house breathes with life.
Kaye and Stan bicker like boxers who’ve been fighting their whole lives and still haven’t gotten tired of it.
During the afternoons, Kaye teaches me how to fight with good form, while Stan teaches me how to fight with flair.
I laugh more than I thought possible while learning how to throw a decent punch.
Sterling always watches from nearby, arms crossed, but there’s pride written across his face.
Whenever he steps in to adjust my form, his hands would be tenderly at my hip, my wrist, or the slope of my shoulder.
But he’s too distracting to pay attention to anything else.
In the evening, we always have dinner altogether. Damon sets up councils at the table. He maps out blueprints, social schematics, and security layouts with brutal efficiency.
“Everyone’s got a role,” Damon says, tapping the table sharply. “Kaye and Stan work the social angle. Elle, you’re the potential bait. Sterling’s your shadow. You don’t move without him.”
I don’t have to look at Sterling to know he’s already watching me. He always is. He’s already positioned himself at my back, like Damon only put into words something Sterling and I have always known and decided on long ago.