What Belongs To Me
Nora
I wake before the alarm, and for one disorienting second, I don't know why I'm warm. Then I feel the weight behind me. One heavy arm draped over my waist. A slow, even breath against the back of my neck.
Fuse.
He doesn't cling in his sleep. He anchors.
His palm rests against my stomach like it belongs there, rough and warm through my T-shirt, and something inside me loosens before I can stop it.
I slept.
Actually slept.
Not the kind where every creak jerks me awake wondering if someone's at the door. Not the kind where I spend half the night listening for Rose to call my name.
I slept so hard I don't remember dreaming. That realization is almost as frightening as it is comforting. I haven't trusted anyone enough to do that in years.
Carefully, I turn my head. Morning light spills through the crack in the curtains, painting gold across the sharp planes of his face. His hair sticks up in every direction. There's a faint crease across his cheek from my pillow, and somehow that tiny imperfection makes him look younger. Softer.
Less like the man who can break another man's jaw without breathing hard. More like the man who held me until I fell asleep.
His eyes open. They find mine immediately. "Mornin'."
His voice is rough with sleep.
I smile before I can stop myself. "Morning."
"You stare at everybody while they're sleeping?"
"I was making sure you were real."
One corner of his mouth lifts. "I'm real." His hand slides over my hip in one slow stroke before he sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face. "What time's Rose coming home?"
I blink. "What?"
"It’s summer which means no school." He glances toward the bedroom door. "Figure she's coming home soon."
I laugh. “My mom’s dropping her off at the shop at ten. Marcy took the early shift.”
“You have great muffins at the shop. Don’t suppose you have any here.”
My eyes narrow. “You just woke up."
"So?"
"So... I don't know." I shake my head. "Most men aren't thinking about breakfast thirty seconds after opening their eyes."
"I'm not most men. I’m a big man. And big men have big appetites."
No arrogance. Just fact.
He reaches for his jeans. "You got eggs?"
"In the fridge."
"Bacon?"
"I think so."
"Pancake mix?"
I stare. "You make pancakes?"
"I can follow directions on a box."
Five minutes later I'm standing in the kitchen doorway with my coffee, watching him completely take over my kitchen.
Cabinets open. Pans out. Coffee brewing. He doesn't ask where everything is twice. He just... figures it out. He looks good standing there. Better than good. Comfortable. Like he belongs here.
I carry our coffee mugs to the table while he flips another pancake onto the plate. The first one is a little too dark around the edges.
"You burned it."
"It's got character."
"That's one word for it."
"You're still eating it."
I smile despite myself. "Probably."
Fuse meets my gaze and something flips between us. Ignites. I barely suppress a shiver.
He sets the spatula down, turns, and closes the distance in two strides. Before I can ask what he’s doing, his hands are under my ass and he’s lifting me onto the counter.
Fuse shoves the mixing bowl aside, and tears a condom from his jeans with his teeth. After freeing just his cock, he rolls it on with hands that shake just a little. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and panties, dragging both down my legs in one rough, impatient pull.
“Couldn’t wait one more second,” he says against my mouth, voice rough with need. “Need to feel you come on my cock. Need to know you’re still here. Still mine.”
He pushes into me slow at first, then hard, deep strokes that make the cabinets rattle while his forehead stays pressed to mine.
Every thrust is filthy and desperate, but his hands cradle my face.
I lock my legs around him and take it all, gasping his name as he fucks the last of the night’s fear out of both of us.
Fuse’s hand slips between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling it in tight, relentless strokes timed to every thrust.
The pressure builds fast, and I shatter around him with a broken cry, pulsing hard enough that he groans against my mouth.
He follows a second later, driving deep and holding still as he comes into the condom, his whole body shuddering against mine.
The frantic edge between us slowly gives way to something softer. We don't rush to move. We stay tangled together, catching our breath while sunlight slips through the window over the sink.
His fingers drift lazily through my hair, and every now and then he presses a kiss to my forehead. Neither of us says much. We don't have to. Somewhere between the coffee shop and the street dance and the random threat, the silence stopped feeling lonely.
When he finally lifts me down and helps me get myself together, we're both smiling in that quiet, exhausted way that only comes after surviving something together. He steals one more kiss before reaching for the pancake mix, and I laugh, shaking my head as I put the coffee on.
We eat at the little table by the window, sunlight creeping across the hardwood floor as the neighborhood slowly wakes up outside. It isn't anything special. Pancakes. Bacon. Coffee.
It should feel ordinary, but somehow, it doesn't.
I can't remember the last time I sat across from someone without checking my phone every few minutes or listening for every sound outside the front door. I can't remember the last breakfast that wasn't something I wolfed down standing at the counter before opening the coffee shop.
With Fuse sitting across from me, talking about nothing important while he reaches over to steal a piece of bacon off my plate, the knot that's lived between my shoulders for the last three years loosens just a little.
"You know that's mine."
He shrugs, completely unbothered as he takes another bite. "Should've protected it better."
I shake my head. "You are unbelievable."
"And yet you keep smiling."
I hate that he's right.
After breakfast, he clears the plates before I can reach for them. I protest exactly once. He ignores me exactly once.
Ten minutes later the kitchen is clean, the dishwasher humming quietly beneath the counter. We're both wrapped around fresh cups of coffee, sitting in comfortable silence while morning sunlight pours through the windows.
It feels... safe. The thought slips in before I can stop it.
Safe.
I haven't let myself feel that in so long I'd almost forgotten what it was like.
Before I can think of a response, my phone buzzes on the counter with an unknown number.
I answer anyway. "Hello?"
"Nora?" The voice is tight. Panicked.
It's Mrs. Alvarez from the flower shop next door.
"You need to get down here."
Every hair on the back of my neck stands up. "Why?"
Silence. A pause. "Just... don't let Rose see it."
My stomach drops. I don't even realize I've gone pale until Fuse is already reaching for his keys.
"What happened?"
I look at him. "I don't know."
Fuse stands in front of my shop, staring at the wall with a grimace. I follow his line of sight and my stomach drops straight through the floor.