Chapter 012 Bedtime Rituals
Her words hung in the air between us, simple and bold. "We could share the bed."
Heat flooded through me, straight to my core. My mind spun with images—her body under mine, skin against skin, the mating bond sealing us in ways I'd only dreamed of since the mark appeared. My cock stirred, thickening half-hard just from her nearness in my bedroom, her scent filling the space. But this was Cassidy. I wouldn't rush her, no matter how badly every instinct screamed to claim her.
She must have seen the hunger in my eyes, because her cheeks colored pink. "I mean just sharing the bed," she said quickly. "No, um, other expectations."
I nodded, forcing my breath steady. "Understood. Whatever makes you comfortable." The words came out rougher than I intended, but she didn't pull away. Relief loosened the knot in my chest a fraction. She wasn't rejecting me outright. That was enough.
First things first. My routines grounded me, kept the chaos at bay. I moved to the window, adjusting the blinds until every slat aligned perfectly parallel to the sill—no gaps, no overlaps. Cassidy watched from the doorway, her wet clothes still tumbling faintly in the dryer down the hall. She didn't laugh or question. Just observed, curious.
Next, the window lock. Turn left. Click. Right. Click. Left again. Secure. I tested the latch twice more for good measure, the familiar motions settling my pulse.
The bedside lamp needed straightening—exactly two hands' width from the table's edge. I nudged it into place, fingers lingering to confirm the distance. Then the phone charger on the nightstand. I smoothed the cord flat, erasing every loop or tangle until it lay straight as a blade.
She hadn't moved, hadn't interrupted. No judgment in her eyes, just quiet interest. That acceptance—it unraveled something tight inside me, like a weight I'd carried alone lifting for the first time.
"Need anything from the closet?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
She shook her head. "My stuff's still wet. Mind if I borrow something dry?"
"Help yourself." I pulled open my dresser drawers, retrieving my cotton sleep pants and undershirt. I folded them with precise creases—pants first, then shirt—stacking them neatly on the bed. In the bottom drawer, my uniforms waited, sorted by color and day: blue for Mondays, green Tuesdays, never repeating. It was a system that had saved me more times than I could count.
Cassidy disappeared toward the laundry nook, returning moments later in my pale green Saturday gardening t-shirt. It hung to mid-thigh on her, soft fabric draping her curves, the hem brushing her bare legs. Possessive heat surged through me. Mine. The word echoed in my skull, primal and unyielding. She looked right in it, like she belonged here. In my home. My bed.
"I borrowed one of your shirts," she said, tugging the hem self-consciously. "It was folded on top of the dryer. I hope that's okay."
"More than okay." I swallowed hard, turning toward the bathroom to give us both space. "I'll be quick."
My bathroom routine was non-negotiable. Toothbrush and tusk polish—exactly three minutes, timer beeping softly from my phone. Cleanser measured into my palm, lathered in even strokes across my face. Then moisturizer, applied in precise circles: forehead, cheeks, jaw. Rinse. Dry. Order restored.
When I emerged, she'd claimed the left side of the bed, sheets pulled up to her chin. The sight of her there, small against the massive frame, hit me like a gut punch. Vulnerable. Mine to protect.
I slid in on my right side, the mattress dipping under my weight. We lay there, hyperaware of the space between us—or lack of it. Her warmth radiated across the divide, her breathing soft but uneven. Mine matched it, every nerve attuned to her.
After a long silence, she turned her head toward me. "The way you prepare for bed, the checking and organizing. How long have you done that?"
The question caught me off guard, but not unpleasantly. No one outside my family had ever asked without pity or mockery. "Since I was a youngling. Six or seven. The other younglings nicknamed me 'Thokk the Counter' because I had to touch certain things a specific number of times. Count steps. Straighten edges."
She shifted slightly, propping on an elbow. Moonlight filtered through the perfect blinds, silvering her face. "That sounds tough."
"It was. Until Aunt Morna figured it out. She told my parents my mind just worked that way—not to fight it, but to let me build systems around it. They listened." I paused, the old gratitude warming my chest. "Now it's uniform colors by day—blue Mondays, green Tuesdays. Keeps everything predictable."
Her eyes softened. "I think your precision is one of your most attractive qualities. You make me feel safe, Thokk. Like nothing can go wrong when you're in charge."
Her words wrapped around me, tighter than any ritual. Attractive. Safe. From her. I wanted to pull her close, but held back. "That's all I want. For you."
She lay back, staring at the ceiling. "I made some mistakes in my old life. Trusted the wrong people, got pulled into bad situations. Sometimes the people who are supposed to protect you... are the ones you need protection from most."
Pain edged her voice, raw and old. Protective fury ignited in my gut—whoever had hurt her, they'd pay. But not now. Now, she needed patience. "You can trust me, Cassidy. Whatever you're running from, whatever secrets you're keeping... you're not alone anymore. I'll keep you safe. Guide every decision if you let me."
She turned toward me, our eyes locking in the dim light. "I know that. I do. I'm just... not quite ready. Can you be patient with me?"
"As long as you need." The vow settled deep, unbreakable.
Her hand found mine under the covers, fingers intertwining. Small, warm, trusting. She sighed, tension easing from her body as her breathing slowed, deepened. Sleep claimed her first, her grip loosening but not releasing.
I lay awake longer, savoring the weight of her hand in mine. This female—guarded, fierce, perfect. The mating bond thrummed between us, patient but insistent. I'd protect her from her past, from the vandals, from everything. Convince her to stay, build a life here. Whatever it took.
Her steady breaths filled the room, a rhythm more grounding than any count. Safe. Finally.