Chapter 10 Miguel
TEN
MIGUEL
The light is wrong this morning. Too pale, too gentle. It doesn’t match the night we’ve just survived—doesn’t match the way he’s sprawled across the bed, chest rising and falling, hair mussed, lips parted, looking like a thoroughly fucked god.
That’s what Caleb is in my eyes.
An Adonis.
My beautiful, broken man. One I will spend the rest of my life putting back together.
He didn’t sleep easily. His body gave him away in every twitch, every sigh, every restless roll in the sheets until I dragged him against me and made him quiet. Until I pressed my words into his skin—steady, certain—until his fight drained and he finally gave in to sleep.
Now he’s here. Fragile. Broken. Beautiful. Mine.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. Of course he doesn’t. That’s Caleb—the part of him that refuses to admit everything he wants, even when his body already has. Even after I’ve taken what’s mine.
I don’t apologize. I won’t, not now, not ever. That’s not how this works. I don’t apologize for hunger, for obsession, for knowing what I want and taking it. And I know him better than he realizes. Better than he probably wants me to.
The bedroom smells like sweat and sex and him. My chest tightens while I press a finger to his jaw, tilting his face toward me. His eyes flick up—the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen, wide and haunted—catching mine for the briefest second before darting away.
“You’re staring,” he whispers, voice rough, like he’s afraid the sound itself might make me disappear.
“I’m remembering you like this,” I murmur. “It will be months before I get to have you like this again.”
His brow furrows slightly, confused and wary, but he doesn’t pull away. Not fully. He can’t. He doesn’t know how.
“You don’t have to—” he starts, but I cut him off, thumb brushing over his temple.
“I’m not leaving,” I tell him, my voice even and low. “Doesn’t matter if you try to run again. I’ll always be here to chase you and drag you back to what we both want. You’re mine now, Caleb.”
The words hang between us, quiet but heavy, full of dark promise and quiet finality. He swallows, trembling, staring at the sheets like they’re easier to look at than me.
I press closer, chest against his back now, hand resting lightly on his waist. He flinches slightly—instinct, I know—but he doesn’t move away. That hesitation, that tiny, defiant human flicker, is enough to make me grin.
He doesn’t understand yet. He’s not ready to admit it, not fully. But he knows, deep down, that this—what we’ve become—is unavoidable. Magnetic. Ours.
“You’re so fragile,” I murmur against his hair. “And I love… it.”
I almost say I love you. But I don’t. Not yet. We aren’t there. He’s not there.
Those words would scare him.
His spine stiffens under my touch, and I let my thumb linger on the curve of his hip. Not touching too much, not yet. I want this, yes—but more than that, I want him to know I see him. All of him. Even the parts he tries to hide.
Caleb breathes shallowly, shoulders rising and falling erratically. His body still trembles, and I can feel the tension coiling like a spring beneath my fingers. He wants me. He’s terrified of wanting me. And I… I’m content with that.
For now.
I lean down, brushing my lips along the shell of his ear, careful, tender, almost soft. “You don’t have to hide,” I whisper. “You never have to with me, Caleb. I need you and you need me.”
He exhales a shaky laugh, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t even know what we are,” he admits, voice barely audible.
“Doesn’t matter.” I nuzzle closer, fingers threading lightly into his hair, just a gentle tug at the roots and I feel him melt. “It’s enough that you’re here. That you’re mine, and I’m yours. The rest… we’ll figure out later. Or never. Doesn’t matter.”
I feel him relax slightly beneath me, the tension easing, the tremor lessening. He’s not broken completely—not yet. But he’s softening enough to let me be what I am for him. Protector, predator, obsession. I’ll be whatever he needs.
Lover. Partner.
Soulmate.
We complete each other.
“You’re still scared,” I whisper against his temple. “Still thinking about every wrong way this could go.”
“I am,” he admits, voice cracking. “But… it’s different with you.”
I hum low, brushing my thumb over the curve of his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s different because it’s real. And you’re not alone. I won’t ever let you be alone in this.”
The bed creaks slightly as he shifts again, small movements that tell me he’s trying to process. I keep my hold loose but possessive, letting him feel my weight and presence without crushing him. He needs to breathe, to think, to feel the aftermath, even if it’s terrifying.
“You think I don’t care about how you feel?
” I murmur softly enough that he can only hear.
“I care. More than anyone ever could. But I don’t want to scare you.
I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll be what you need, Caleb.
Even if that’s just… this. Just me. Watching, waiting, keeping you safe, giving you what you need and making sure you’re grounded. ”
His chest rises and falls faster, but there’s a tremor of relief now. He swallows, fingers twitching at the sheet. “I… I don’t know what to say,” he admits.
“Don’t say anything,” I whisper. “You just need to feel it. Know it. That’s enough for me.”
I let my hands drift along his sides, lingering over his ribs, brushing across the curve of his back. He stiffens for a heartbeat, then relaxes under my touch. My heart clenches at the sight of him—so raw, so exposed, so willing in ways he doesn’t even admit to himself.
“You can’t hide from me,” I murmur. “I see through all the bullshit you feed everyone else. The perfect son, the star athlete, straight A college student. But I’ve been able to see through to who you really are.
The hurt, abandoned boy. Who’s been neglected emotionally.
Let me take care of that part of you, Caleb. Even if it’s in secret for now.”
He finally meets my eyes, blue and wide and soft, no longer just fearful. There’s trust there, buried beneath layers of shame and panic, but it’s real. He’s seen me without the mask, without the chase, and yet he still stays. He still lets me in.
Something deep inside me twists, hot and dark, protective and possessive. I press a kiss to his temple, soft but claiming. “It’s the two of us, Caleb. Whatever this is… whatever it becomes… it’s ours. You and me.”
His lips quiver. “It is?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I murmur.
And for the first time since last night, he allows himself to relax completely into me. Not hiding, not resisting. Just… here. With me.
The morning stretches long and quiet, heavy with tension, longing, and something unspoken. The world outside could burn, but in this room, in this dark, quiet aftermath, it’s just us. Caleb broken and wanting, and me content with keeping him exactly where he belongs.
He’s mine, and I am his.