Rhys
I closed my eyes, feeling her weight settle against my chest. Her breathing slowed, soft and even, warm puffs of air against my skin.
Every muscle in my body screamed at me to leave—to pull away before I made this worse, before I let myself believe this could be anything other than a colossal fucking mistake.
But she fit there. Against me. Like some piece I didn't know was missing had finally clicked into place.
I told myself I was just making sure she was safe. That I'd stay a few minutes, let her fall asleep, then slip out before she woke. Before she could see the guilt crawling across my face, before she could ask questions I had no right answers for.
I knew it was a lie the second the thought formed.
My hand moved of its own accord, sliding down her spine in a slow, possessive stroke. She shifted against me, a soft sound escaping her throat, and something primal surged through my chest. Mine. The word echoed in my head like a brand, burning itself deeper with every breath she took.
I shouldn't stay. I shouldn't touch her again. I should put distance between us before I ruined her completely, before I dragged her into the wreckage of whatever the hell I was.
But my fingers kept moving—tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, memorizing every inch of her like I could somehow hold onto this moment if I just paid close enough attention.
This was a mistake. I knew that. Had known it the second I followed her home, the second I put my hand on that door. But knowing didn't stop the pull. Didn't stop the hunger clawing through me, the need to keep her close, to feel her skin against mine, to prove she was real and here and mine.
I couldn't stop. Not now. Not when she was wrapped around me, soft and warm and trusting in a way that gutted me. Not when every breath she took made my chest ache with something I refused to name.
She was under my skin. In my blood. In every thought I tried to bury and every moment I tried to forget.
I was already too far gone. And God help me, I didn't want to come back.
Sleep dragged me under before I could stop it.
I fought it at first—kept my eyes open, focused on the ceiling, on the shadows, on anything that would keep me sharp.
But her warmth seeped into me, slow and steady, and my body betrayed me.
My breathing evened out. My muscles went slack.
The tension I'd carried for years—sharp and constant and necessary—finally loosened its grip.
I fell.
Deep.
Unbroken.
Safe.
No nightmares clawed their way through. No old ghosts waiting in the dark. Just silence. Just her breath against my chest and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath my palm.
When I woke, the room was still dim. Early morning light filtered through her curtains, soft and gray. I didn't move. Couldn't. My mind needed a second to catch up—to recognize where I was, why I felt this strange, unfamiliar lightness in my chest.
Then it hit me.
I'd slept. Actually slept. For the first time in years, I hadn't woken every hour, hadn't jolted awake at every sound, hadn't laid there staring at nothing while my thoughts shredded me apart.
I sat up too fast—panic slamming through me before thought could catch up.
The bed was empty. Cold where she'd been pressed against me. My chest tightened, breath coming shallow and sharp. She left. Of course she left. She woke up, saw what we'd done, saw me, and—
Water running.
The sound cut through the spiral, quiet but unmistakable. The shower. She was in the shower.
I exhaled hard, scrubbing both hands over my face. My pulse hammered against my ribs, adrenaline still flooding my system even as logic kicked back in. She didn't leave. She was here. Safe. Close.
The relief hit like a physical thing—muscles loosening all at once, tension draining so fast I felt dizzy from it.
And then something else surged up in its place.
Heat. Low in my gut, spreading fast. I could hear the water hitting tile, imagined it sliding over her skin, warm and slick. Pictured her standing there—head tipped back, eyes closed, droplets tracing paths I'd mapped with my hands last night.
My jaw clenched. This wasn't normal. Wasn't how I functioned. I didn't do this—didn't wake up wanting, didn't let desire override control, didn't sit in someone else's bed fighting the urge to follow them into the goddamn shower.
But I wanted to. God, I wanted to. Wanted to step under that water with her, press her against cool tile, feel her gasp against my mouth. Wanted to touch her again, taste her again, hear those sounds she made when I—
I forced myself to breathe. To think. To remember all the reasons this couldn't happen again.
None of them stuck.
The shower kept running.
And I kept sitting there, hard and aching and completely fucking lost.
I stood outside the bathroom door, hand braced against the frame, every rational thought screaming at me to walk away.
Leave. Get dressed. Go home before she came out and saw the hunger still carved across my face. Before I proved I had no restraint left, no control, nothing but this raw desperate need clawing through my chest.
I turned away once. Made it three steps.
The sound of water hitting tile pulled me back like a chain.
I pushed the door open. Steam rolled out, thick and warm, wrapping around me as I stepped inside. The glass shower door fogged over, her silhouette barely visible through the condensation. My hands shook as I stripped—underwear, everything hitting the floor in a careless heap.
I opened the shower door.
She gasped, spinning toward me, eyes wide and startled. Water streamed down her body, over curves I'd memorized in the dark. Her lips parted like she might say something—ask what I was doing, tell me to leave, push me away.
I didn't give her the chance.
I stepped under the spray and hauled her against me.
Her skin was slick and hot; her breath coming fast against my mouth. I kissed her slow this time—deep and deliberate, tasting water and want and something sweeter I didn't have words for. My hands slid down her sides, mapping every inch, holding her like she might disappear if I loosened my grip.
She melted into me. No hesitation. No fear. Just soft surrender that destroyed every wall I'd built.
I pressed her back against the tile, bracing one hand beside her head, the other gripping her hip. The water beat down between us, steam curling around our bodies, heat rising until I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.
"Rhys—" Her voice broke on my name, breathless and needy, and something inside me snapped into place.
Mine.
Not a thought this time. Not an instinct.
A fact.
She was mine. And I was never letting her go.
I kissed her again, slow and possessive, pouring every unspoken word into the press of my mouth against hers. Every promise I couldn't say. Every protection I'd offer. Every piece of myself I'd already given without realizing it.
I'd crossed the line. Shattered it. Burned it to ash.
And I didn't care.
The water beat down between us, hot and relentless, matching the pulse pounding through my veins.
I gripped her hips, lifting her effortlessly, and she wrapped her legs around me without hesitation.
Her back hit the tile with a soft thud, her breath hitching as I pinned her there, my mouth crashing against hers.
I didn’t ask. Didn’t give her time to think. Just slid into her in one smooth, deep thrust.
She gasped against my lips, nails digging into my shoulders. The sound went straight to my cock, making me harder, making me hungry. I pulled back just enough to see her face—eyes dark, lips parted, flushed from the heat and the way I filled her. Fuck, she was perfect. Too perfect. Too much.
I drove into her again, harder this time, and her head fell back against the tile with a soft cry. The sound echoed in the small space, raw and needy, and I groaned, my hands tightening on her. “Look at me,” I demanded, voice rough.
She obeyed instantly, her gaze locking onto mine as I thrust into her again. Her lips parted, a broken moan escaping, and I could see it in her eyes—the way she was already unraveling, the way she wanted this as much as I did.
“You feel that?” I growled, my hips snapping forward, burying myself deep. “You feel how fucking deep I am?”
She nodded, breathless, her nails raking down my back. “Yes—”
“Say it.” I needed to hear it. Needed to know she felt it too—the way I stretched her, the way I owned her. “Tell me how it feels.”
Her voice trembled, but she didn’t hesitate. “Sore,” she whispered. “I’m so sore because of you.”
A groan tore from my throat, my control snapping. I fucked her harder, my hands gripping her ass, holding her exactly where I needed her. The water sluiced between us, slick and hot, her body tightening around me with every thrust. She was mine. Completely, utterly mine.
“Again,” I demanded, my voice a dark rasp. “Tell me who did this to you.”
Her eyes fluttered, her body trembling as she clung to me. “You,” she gasped. “It’s you, Rhys. Always you.”
I lost it.
I drove into her with a growl, my mouth crashing onto hers as I swallowed her cries.
She came with a broken sob, her body clenching around me so tight I saw stars.
I followed her over the edge, my release tearing through me with a force that left me breathless, my forehead pressing against hers as I spilled inside her.
The water kept falling, washing over us, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My heart hammered against my ribs; my breath ragged. I kept her pinned there, my hands still gripping her, my cock still buried deep inside her.
Because if I let go, I’d have to face what this meant.
And I wasn’t ready for that yet.
Her lips brushed my forehead, soft and reverent, and something in my chest cracked open.
She kissed my cheeks next—both sides, gentle as a whisper. Then my shoulder, where old scars traced white lines across tan skin. Each touch felt like absolution I didn't deserve, like she was trying to piece together something broken inside me I'd never shown anyone.