Chapter 77 Ethan
Ethan
She looks at me like I’ve just offered her something impossible.
Care without demand.
Touch without fear.
Want without pressure.
It guts me.
Because she should’ve had that all along.
Because somebody should’ve protected that softness in her years ago.
Because the fact that she has to learn the difference now makes me want to put my fist through every wall in this place.
But not tonight.
Tonight is for her.
For us.
For giving her something that belongs to no one but her own choosing.
I shift on the bed and move slowly, making every motion obvious, every touch deliberate. “Can I take this off?”
My fingers brush the blanket around her shoulders.
She watches me for a second, then nods.
“Yes.”
I peel it back carefully and set it aside.
Underneath, she’s still in the soft clothes someone left in the room after the med team finished with her. Long-sleeved shirt. Loose drawstring pants. Nothing dramatic.
Still, my mouth goes dry.
Not because of how she looks.
Though she’s beautiful enough to stop a man’s heart.
Because she’s letting me see her like this.
Bruised throat.
Healing wounds.
Eyes swollen from crying.
And still trusting me enough to stay.
I lift a hand to her face. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
Her voice shakes.
Not uncertainty.
Emotion.
That might be worse.
I kiss her once.
Then again.
Each one slow enough for her to pull away if she wants.
She never does.
Instead she shifts closer, one careful inch at a time, until she’s nearly in my lap and her hands are sliding beneath my jaw, into my hair, holding me with this quiet, desperate certainty that tears straight through me.
I wrap an arm around her waist and help her move without jarring her side.
She settles against me with a little gasp that has more feeling than pain in it.
My body reacts instantly.
No stopping that.
No hiding it either.
Her eyes flick down.
Then back up.
A blush rises over her cheeks beneath the exhaustion and bruising.
Something about that nearly kills me.
“You’re blushing,” I murmur.
A tiny, disbelieving laugh slips out of her. “I’ve had a strange day.”
I brush my nose lightly against hers. “That an official diagnosis?”
“Probably.”
Her fingers slide down to the scar near my ribs, tracing it gently. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Which one?”
“How many times you almost died without telling anyone.”
I let out a breath. “Enough that my team would make it weird if I gave an exact number.”
Her mouth softens. “You make jokes when things hurt.”
“So do you.”
“Maybe that’s why we work.”
I look at her.
At the quiet truth in her face.
At the way she says we like it’s already decided.
Maybe it is.
My hand moves up her back slowly, feeling every tiny tremor in her muscles, every place she still hasn’t come fully down from the fight.
“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” I tell her. “We can just stay here.”
Her eyes search mine. “Would that be enough for you?”
The question lands heavier than she probably meant it to.
I answer without hesitation. “You breathing beside me is enough for me.”
Everything in her face changes.
Not all at once.
Slowly.
Like a locked door giving way.
Then she kisses me.
Harder this time.
Not wild.
Certain.
I take it.
Give it back.
My hand cups the back of her neck while the other slides along her waist, slow and grounding, letting her feel every inch of what I’m doing before I do it.
When she shivers, I pull back.
“Still okay?”
“Yes.”
“You need a break?”
“No.”
I smile against her mouth. “Bossy.”
“Says you.”
Fair.
I kiss down the line of her jaw.
Her breath catches when I reach the unbruised side of her neck, so I stay there, careful, testing, learning what makes her soften and what makes her tense.
I avoid the dark marks at her throat entirely, and when my hand slips under the hem of her shirt, it does so slowly enough that she can stop me.
She doesn’t.
Her skin is warm.
Too warm maybe.
Alive.
My thumb brushes lightly over her side, skirting the bandaged wound by inches.
She trembles.
I freeze immediately. “Pain?”
“No.” Her eyes are closed now. “Just… feeling.”
Christ.
I rest my forehead against hers and breathe through the way that goes straight under my skin.
Her hands move to my shoulders, then lower, tracing the lines of muscle and scar like she’s learning me too. Not searching for perfection. Just truth.
I let her.
Gladly.
When her fingers slide to the waistband of my sweats, she hesitates.
Looks at me.
Asking without words.
I nod once.
Only once.
She exhales shakily and lets her palm flatten low against my stomach instead, not going farther yet.
Good.
No rush.
No edge we need to race toward.
I guide her back against the pillows slowly, supporting her the whole time so she doesn’t jar her side. She watches me like she’s waiting to see if I’ll change once she’s underneath me.
I don’t.
I brace my weight carefully above her, making sure none of it rests where she’s hurt, then kiss her again.
Slower now.
Deep enough to make her breathe harder.
Soft enough to keep it safe.
Her fingers slide through my hair.
Her leg shifts against mine.
The contact is so good it nearly wrecks my restraint on the spot.
“Ava,” I mutter against her mouth.
“I know.”
Her voice is a whisper.
Warm.
Wanting.
I kiss her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, then whisper back, “No, I don’t think you do.”
Her lashes flutter. “Then tell me.”
So I do.
“I’ve wanted you for so long it stopped feeling temporary.” My hand slides carefully over her hip. “It became part of me.”
The look on her face after that might stay with me until I die.
Open.
Shaken.
So damn tender I can barely breathe around it.
Her fingertips brush the side of my face. “I thought I lost this.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.” She swallows. “I mean the part of me that could want something gentle.”
That one goes right through me.
I kiss her forehead. “It was always there.”
She shakes her head faintly. “You shouldn’t sound so sure.”
“I know you.”
A tear threatens in the corner of her eye.
I kiss it away before it falls.
Her hands tighten on me. “Show me.”
The words are barely sound.
But I hear them.
Feel them.
Carry the weight of them exactly the way she meant.
So I slow everything down even more.
I kiss her until her breathing evens.
Touch her only where she leans into it.
Keep my hands steady and warm and patient, learning the small reactions in her body like they matter.
Because they do.
Every inch of trust matters.
Every breath she takes without fear matters.
When I slide my hand beneath her shirt again, this time she arches slightly into it, and the soft sound that leaves her mouth nearly undoes me.
I break the kiss long enough to look at her. “Still with me?”
Her eyes are dark now.
Focused.
Completely here.
“Yes.”
That’s all I need.
I ease her shirt up just enough to press my mouth to the skin below her collarbone.
Then lower.
Not far.
Just enough to make her gasp softly and curl her fingers into my shoulders.
I’m careful of every bruise.
Every bandage.
Every place her body paid for today.
She feels that care.
I know she does because her whole body begins to unwind beneath me in small, trembling pieces.
Not passive.
Not gone.
Trusting.
Choosing.
My hand slides along her waist, down her hip, then back up again, never rushing, never taking for granted that she’s letting me.
When she whispers my name this time, it’s not fear.
Not warning.
Need.
The kind that makes something inside me nearly snap.
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
Her chest rises and falls hard. “More.”
I smile despite myself. “Helpful.”
A tired laugh slips out of her.
Then she reaches for me with more certainty than before, tugging me down for another kiss, and I know that’s my answer as much as any words.
So I give her more.
More kisses.
More heat.
More slow, deliberate touch.
Enough to build her up without overwhelming her.
Enough that by the time I finally settle beside her instead of above her, both of us are breathing hard and she’s tucked half over me, her cheek against my chest, my hand moving softly over her back beneath her shirt.
Not finished.
Not denied.
Just held right at the edge of something deeper for when her body and heart have a little more room to breathe.
She tilts her head up, dazed and flushed and beautiful. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?”
“Stopped before it got too far.”
I brush hair from her face. “Yeah.”
She studies me. “You really meant what you said.”
“About?”
“Not taking more than I can give.”
I kiss her once, gently. “I meant every word.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “That makes me want you more, which feels unfair.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it.
Real this time.
God, I needed that.
She smiles a little too, sleepy and soft and far too precious for this world.
I tuck the blanket back around both of us and pull her closer, until she’s resting against my uninjured side with her head on my shoulder.
She lets me.
Just melts there.
After a few quiet minutes, her voice drifts up through the dim room.
“When this gets hard again…”
“It will.”
“Probably.”
I brush my fingers through her hair. “We’ll handle it.”
She traces a lazy line over my chest. “You make impossible things sound manageable.”
“That’s because I’m not facing them alone anymore.”
She goes quiet.
Then softer than soft, “Neither am I.”
I close my eyes.
Hold her tighter.
And for the first time in a very long time, the future doesn’t feel like a trap.
It feels like a door.
We don’t walk through it tonight.
Tonight we breathe.
Tonight we survive the ending of one nightmare without rushing the beginning of everything else.
But it’s there now.
Open.
Waiting.
And Ava is warm in my arms as sleep finally starts to pull at both of us.