Chapter 51 #3
Seeming to realize where he is, he suddenly pushes himself off me and pulls out.
He tears the condom off and buries his face between my legs. His tongue sweeps up every remaining drop of my release, humming with approval as I whimper.
“Perfect,” he growls, lapping slowly. “Every drop is mine.”
When he’s had his fill, he releases the cuffs and checks my wrists. Kisses each one gently.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Better than okay,” I manage. My voice is wrecked. “That was. Yeah. Wow.”
He laughs. The sound is warm and real and everything I didn’t know I needed.
“Stay here,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
He collects the vibrator and two condoms from the floor and then disappears into the en-suite bathroom. He returns with a warm washcloth and wipes my body clean with a gentleness that makes my chest tight.
Then he changes the pillowcases. Because of course he does. Can’t have his girlfriend sleeping on anything less than fresh linens.
Girlfriend.
Am I his girlfriend now?
Is that what we’re calling this?
“You’re thinking loud,” he observes, sliding back into bed beside me.
“Just processing.” I curl into his good side. “That was amazing. I mean. You were. We were.”
“We were pretty great, weren’t we?” he agrees. His hand traces patterns on my bare shoulder.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl. Loudly.
“Kitchen raid?” he suggests.
“You read my mind.”
We throw on clothes. Well, I steal one of his shirts because it smells like him and I’m apparently that person now. He pulls on sweats.
The kitchen is dark. We navigate by moonlight and muscle memory.
He makes me a sandwich. I steal his chips. We eat standing at the island like two people who forgot how chairs work.
Not a billionaire.
Not a nanny.
Just two people very much in love with one another.
My phone lights up on the counter. I check it. A text from Ethan: It’s after midnight. You leave yet?
Shit.
I pick up the phone, very aware that Marco can see the screen.
“Your brother checking in?” he asks mildly.
“Yep.” I type out a response: Not yet. Still here.
The reply comes back instantly: Jess.
Just my name. That’s it. The universal big brother signal for “I’m disappointed but not surprised.”
Another text arrives: Do you want me to pick you up?
I glance at Marco, who’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. Then I look down at my phone, then at his shirt I’m wearing, and finally at the half-eaten sandwich.
I text back: Nope. I’m good. I’m safe. I promise.
Three dots appear. Those dots remain on the screen for a whole thirty seconds, as if Ethan’s constantly typing and erasing and retyping his response.
Finally: Fine. But if anything feels wrong, you call me. I don’t care what time it is.
I reply: I will. Thank you for being the world’s most annoyingly protective brother.
Ethan returns: Someone has to be. Love you.
I text back: Love you too.
When I set the phone down and look up I find Marco still watching me.
“He’s not happy I’m still here,” I explain.
Marco shrugs. “Can’t blame him. I did hire a PI to stalk his sister.”
“Yeah, but you’re very sorry about it and also you make really good sandwiches, so it balances out.”
That gets a smile.
I take another bite of my sandwich, and realize I just told Ethan I love him. Over text, admittedly. But I still haven’t told Marco that, have I? Not really. I only said: I might love you.
So yeah, probably should get that over with.
But first... the lingering guilt.
“I should probably tell you something,” I say between bites.
“What’s that?”
“I still feel guilty,” I admit. “About being too slow with the bear spray. About not protecting you better.”
He sets down his sandwich. Takes my hands in his.
“Jess. Listen to me.” His voice is firm.
“I don’t even remember. It doesn’t matter.
All that matters is, you saved our lives.
You put yourself between a grizzly and my daughter.
You stayed calm enough to use the satellite phone.
If you hadn’t done all of that, we would be dead. Do you understand? Dead.”
“But your face...”
“My face is fine.” He touches the scar almost absently. “Besides, you said it yourself. I look hotter now anyway.”
I smile. “This is true.”
He presses his forehead against mine. “What matters is we’re all alive. All of us. Together.”
I blink rapidly because apparently I’m going to cry in Marco Fiore’s kitchen while wearing his shirt and eating his sandwich.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too.”
We finish our snack. Clean up the kitchen. Head back upstairs hand in hand.
When we slide back into bed, I’m already half asleep.
Safe.
Warm.
Loved.
I’m in the woods. The terrifyingly dark woods.
Lost. Can’t find the path. Trees closing in.
No no no.
Then I see Marco.
Relief floods through me.
But behind him, the bear appears. Massive. Charging.
No no no.
Not again.
It hits him. Tears into his face. Blood everywhere.
No!
I’m screaming. Trying to reach him. But my legs won’t move.
“Jess.” A voice cuts through the nightmare. “Jess, wake up.”
I jolt awake. Gasping. My heart hammering so hard it hurts.
Marco’s there. Sitting up beside me. His scarred face illuminated by moonlight.
“You’re okay,” he says steadily. “You’re safe. We’re home. Just a dream.”
I’m shaking. Can’t stop shaking. My breath comes in frantic gasps.
“One-two-three, brave,” he says softly. “Breathe with me. In through your nose.” His voice is calm. Anchoring. “Out through your mouth.”
We count together. Just like I used to do for Ben.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
My breathing slows. The shaking eases.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be.” He pulls me close. He’s careful of his shoulder but his grip is still firm enough that I feel safe. “Trauma doesn’t just disappear because we want it to. We work through it. Together.”
Together.
That’s the part I keep forgetting.
I don’t have to do this alone anymore.
“When can I move in?” I ask quietly. “As your partner.”
“Whenever you want,” he promises. “Tomorrow. The day after. Next week. Whatever works best for you.”
“Tomorrow,” I say softly, snuggling against him. “Or the day after.”
“Works for me,” he says.
I close my eyes. Let his steady breathing lull me back to sleep.
This time when I drift off, there are no nightmares.