Chapter Twenty-One
Sierra
T he world came back to me in fragments. The cool silk of the sheets, the low hum of the A/C, and the lack of weight from Connor's arm across my ribs.
My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, my tongue thick and cottony against the roof of my mouth. When I finally pried my eyes open, the penthouse was bathed in daylight. I'd never slept so long in my life.
“Connor?” I called, my voice raspy from sleep and disuse.
The sound disturbed Toffee, who’d been curled in a perfect beige circle at my feet. He stretched languidly, extending one paw toward me with a meow that clearly communicated his displeasure at being awakened.
“Sorry, baby,” I whispered, reaching down to stroke his head. He arched into my touch with a rumbling purr that vibrated through the mattress.
“You're awake. ”
Connor's voice came from the doorway, his hulking silhouette backlit by the living room’s warm glow. He came over to me, a steaming mug in one hand, the other already reaching to smooth my wild curls. His touch was impossibly gentle, calloused fingers wiping the sleep from my eyes.
“How are you feeling, sweet girl?”
The mug pressed into my palms, chai with brown sugar, exactly how I liked it. I inhaled the spicy aroma, letting the warmth seep into my still-heavy limbs.
“Like I've been hit by a truck,” I admitted, taking a small sip. It was sweet and perfect.
He sank onto the mattress beside me, his thigh pressing against mine through the sheet. Toffee immediately abandoned me to head-butt Connor's elbow, demanding attention from the other human. Connor obliged, scratching under his chin while keeping his eyes fixed on my face.
“You needed it. After what happened yesterday.”
Yesterday. Flashes of the event hall bombarded me—my scattered index cards, Jerry's yellowed teeth grinning through the crowd, the harsh bite of the storage closet carpet. My breath hitched, the mug tilting dangerously until Connor's hand closed over mine, steadying it.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that immediately calmed me. “You're safe now. You’re with me.”
I nodded, focusing on the warmth of the mug between my palms, the solid presence of Connor beside me, the comforting weight of Toffee as he settled in my lap.
The anxiety that had threatened me receded, pushed back by the comfort of Connor’s presence.
“I called Jones,” Connor continued, still attempting to tame my curls. “I told him you were sick again. He said to take the week."
“But the donor follow-ups?—”
“Your coworker’s handling them." His tone was final, though his hands remained tender as they stroked my hair. "You're staying here, where I can take care of you.”
Maybe I should have protested. Insisted on going back to work, on facing the world despite the terror that still lurked in the corners of my mind.
But the thought of returning to the library, of walking past the spot where Jerry had stood, made my stomach clench with dread.
So, instead, I happily leaned into Connor's touch, allowing myself the luxury of being cared for.
“Thank you,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder. Toffee kneaded my thigh, his purrs growing louder. “For everything. For being there yesterday. For... understanding.”
Connor's muscly arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer to his side. “Always,” he promised, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “You should be hungry. I made breakfast.”
The mention of food awakened a hunger I hadn't realized was there. My stomach growled audibly, causing Toffee to pause before resuming his purring. Connor laughed, the sound warming me more effectively than the tea had.
“Good girl,” he said, standing and extending his hand to me. “Come on. Before Toffee decides it's his.”
As if understanding the accusation, Toffee meowed before leaping from the bed and trotting ahead of us, his tail held high like a flag. I smiled, setting the empty mug aside and taking Connor's outstretched hand. My legs felt wobbly as I stood, my body still heavy with the remnants of exhaustion.
“Slowly,” Connor steadied me, his arm slipping around my waist. “Take it slow. You've been out for a while.”
The kitchen was filled with the aroma of eggs, sausage, and crispy frying bacon. It smelled delicious and was possibly the sweetest thing ever.
“You did all this while I was sleeping?” I asked, sliding into the chair Connor pulled out for me.
He shrugged; the gesture casual, though I didn't miss the pleased glint in his eyes at my reaction. “Had to keep busy somehow. Can’t talk to you when you're unconscious.”
I laughed, and the sound surprised me with its normalcy. How could I laugh after yesterday? After seeing Jerry? After falling apart?
Yet here I was, sitting in Connor's kitchen with my cat, watching the boxing champion plate my breakfast with care. It was as if the world hadn't threatened to consume me when Jerry appeared in that crowd.
Connor set a huge plate of pancakes next to me, a plate that I hadn’t even seen. There was even sliced butter and powdered sugar on top, a gesture so sweet I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Here I was, crying over food again.
“Eat,” he urged, taking the time to cut them up for me before making his own plate and sitting down. “You need the energy.”
I stabbed a bite of pancake, the first bite melting on my tongue in a fluffy parade.
“This is amazing,” I mumbled around a mouthful. “You’re no longer a boxing god. You’re a pancake god.”
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take any name you give me, sweet girl.”
Toffee, deciding he'd been ignored long enough, leapt onto the table. Connor made a half-hearted attempt to shoo him away, but Toffee dodged his hand and settled beside my plate, eyeing the bacon with undisguised interest.
“Don't even think about it,” I warned, pointing my fork at him. “You have your own fancy food.”
Toffee blinked slowly, the picture of feline innocence, before deliberately extending one paw toward my plate. Connor snorted, reaching over to pet his head.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. Connor, the shared meal, Toffee's antics felt normal. Safe. For the first time ever, I felt like I could breathe even with Jerry lurking in my back of my mind.
We ate with Beauty and the Beast on his massive living room TV, something I’m growing just a bit tired of. Though Connor often watched me instead, his gaze unwavering and warm.
There was something different about him tonight, though, a softness around the edges. There was a lot of tenderness in his movements as he refilled my glass or cut my pancakes.
“What?” I asked finally, catching him staring.
“Nothing.” He reached across the table, his thumb brushing butter from my lips and bringing it to his own. “I’m just... glad you're here. Safe with me.”
The simple declaration warmed me from the inside out. With Connor, I was protected. The thought of Jerry couldn't touch me here, in this fortress sixty stories above the city, with the man who looked at me like I was his everything.
Late in the day, Connor drew me a bath in the enormous soaking tub, adding the lavender bath soap he’d brought from my apartment. Toffee supervised from his perch on the counter, tail swishing as he watched the water rise.
“Join me?” I asked, tugging at his sweatpants from inside the porcelain. He hesitated, something flickering in his dark eyes, before he shook his head.
“Not tonight. This one's just for you.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I'll be right here if you need anything.”
The bath was perfect—hot enough to flush my skin, the lavender scent rising in the steam to envelop me in a fragrant cloud. I sank deeper into the water, letting it cover my shoulders, my mind drifting pleasantly in the warmth. Toffee remained on his perch, watching me like I was entertaining.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Connor was gently shaking my shoulder. “Water's getting cold,” he murmured, holding out a fluffy towel. “Come on, before you turn into a raisin.”
He dried me gently, his touch carefully straying away from something more intimate. When he dressed me in his hoodie, the sleeves swallowing my hands, it felt like being wrapped in his protection, his scent, his warmth, his silent promise to keep the monsters at bay.
I blushed furiously when he pulled my panties up, even though he’d seen me naked this whole time. His touch stayed light, but I didn’t miss the way his jaw flexed or how his gaze lingered between my thighs as he sat on the bed in front of me. Connor’s hands paused, the cotton halfway up my thighs.
His thumb brushed the inside of my leg, and I felt it: the slickness there, impossible to hide. My breath hitched, embarrassment flooding me. I’d gotten wet so easily from him.
His head dipped, and he dragged one thick, calloused finger up the seam of my folds, slow and deliberate, sliding over my slit. I shivered, my knees nearly buckling, but his other hand gripped my hip, holding me steady between his spread knees.
A low, dangerous sound vibrated from his chest. “When did this happen, sweet girl?” His finger slid back down, gliding through my wetness, parting my lips.
“Did dressing you get you all wet?”
My face burned, but I couldn’t look away. I was caught and exposed, my thighs shaking as he slid that single finger up again, circling my clit with just the barest pressure. The contrast of his rough skin against my softest place made me whimper, my hands flying to his broad shoulders for balance.
He pressed his forehead to my belly, his finger teasing my clit in slow, lazy circles, torturing me with delicious pressure.
“This is mine, you know that? All of you, Sierra.”
My hips rocked forward, desperate for more friction, but he kept his touch light, torturously gentle. “You got like this just from me taking care of you? Just from my hands on your skin?”