36. In His Arms
It's 1:53 AM
Friday arrives too quickly.
The air is colder than I expect when I step into the quiet, half-lit parking lot. My footsteps echo as I approach him—leaning against a car, a shadow more than a man.
"I've also arranged it," he says, his voice gritting like sandpaper against the stillness. "The so-called culprit. Make sure you don't actually hurt-"
"Fine," I cut in, sharper than intended. "Calm down."
His eyes narrow, glinting in the dim light, like he doesn't trust me. He pushes off the car, taking a slow step closer, his words deliberate. "Don't forget who you're working for. Also try to stay-"
My stomach knots. The urge to snap back claws at me, but I bite it down, forcing a mask of indifference over my face. "I said I'll handle it."
He studies me for a long moment, then finally smirks, low and cold. "Good. Because if you don't... I'll handle you."
I don't flinch, don't let him see how tightly my nails dig into my palm. He's always testing me, waiting for me to crack.
"Understood." I say flatly, though my voice feels foreign in my throat.
He smirks, satisfied enough, and steps back into shadow. A car door opens, then shuts, the sound reverberating in the empty lot. Tires squeal, and just like that, he's gone—leaving only the echo of his threat behind.
I exhale, slow and shaky, tugging the phone from my pocket and staring at the black screen. My reflection stares back, sharp and fractured. I push off the concrete wall, sliding the phone back into my jacket.
Two worlds. One lie.
I wake up to warmth.
Xavier.
We're tangled together on his bed, his arm thrown around my waist. His breath is slow, deep, brushing against my collarbone with every exhale.
The man who's all sharp edges and steel outside?
He looks so soft and peaceful with me in his arms.
His lashes rest against his skin, long and dark, casting shadows that shouldn't look this beautiful on someone so terrifying in the ring. Those lips that spit venom at me once upon a time are now parted just slightly, pink and unguarded.
I can't stop staring.
I let my fingertips ghost over his forearm, slow enough not to wake him. There's a softness beneath all that muscle, a quiet strength that makes something inside me ache.
How can someone like him feel so much like home?
I kiss the spot between his brows, lingering there for just a second before pulling back with a smile.
How is he so perfect? How is he even mine?
His arm tightens unconsciously around my waist, pulling me closer even in sleep, and I feel my heart stutter at the simple instinctive way he reaches for me.
I brush hair from his forehead, my chest aching with something both fierce and gentle all at once. I don't know what I did to deserve him, or if I ever really will. But in this moment, with the morning light painting him in warmth, I decide I don't care.
He's mine and I'm his.
My gaze drops to his face again, his mouth relaxed in the softest way I've ever seen it. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to smile, and then carefully I trace the tip of my finger over the sharp line of his jaw, down to his chin, sketching invisible shapes only I'll know.
When he doesn't stir, I lean in closer, whispering, "You're very lucky to have someone as incredible as me."
He shifts faintly, his fingers circling at my waist like he's answering me in his sleep, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from giggling out loud.
Unable to resist, I grab the edge of the blanket and tug it over his shoulder, tucking him in the way he always pretends he doesn't need. Then, just because I can, I press the lightest kiss to the tip of his nose.
"There," I whisper. "Perfect."
I can't stop myself. He just looks too cute right now.
I reach for his hand where it rests against my waist, carefully lifting it so I can weave my fingers through his. His grip tightens automatically, even in sleep, and the corner of my mouth curls at the thought that even unconscious, he refuses to let go.
"Clingy." I whisper with a grin, though the truth is I love it.
I love it too much.
My eyes flick down to his lips, curved in the faintest, unintentional pout. It makes me laugh softly, and before I can talk myself out of it, I take my finger and poke the corner of his mouth. "Don't you dare pout at me in your sleep." I murmur.
He doesn't move. Just breathes steadily, his chest pressing against mine, and I melt all over again. My free hand traces lazy patterns over the back of his, little loops and swirls, like doodles on paper only he'll ever carry.
"You have no idea," I whisper into the quiet morning, my lips brushing against his collarbone. "No idea how much I love you."
And then, just because I know he'd roll his eyes if he was awake, I add in a tiny sing-song voice, "You're stuck with me forever."
He sighs in his sleep, shifting just enough to press me closer, and I giggle into his skin.
Then a low sound rumbles from his chest—half sigh, half chuckle. My whole body freezes.
Before I can even pull back, his arm tightens around me, and his eyes blink open, heavy-lidded but unmistakably awake. He's been listening.
"Forever, huh?" His voice is thick with sleep, deeper, warmer.
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die when he leans in and presses his lips to mine. Slow. Soft. Just a second, but enough to send warmth flooding through me like sunlight spilling into the room.
By the time he pulls back, my heart is pounding. He smirks faintly, eyes half-shut again, like he could fall right back asleep if he wanted to. "I can live with forever." he murmurs.
"Xav," I mumble, rolling onto my side so I can look at him properly. His hair is a mess, his eyes closed "Can you not go to the gym today?"'
I feel like staying home with him, wrapped in the quiet of us.
He arches a brow, voice still gravelly from sleep. "Not go?"
"Yeah." I tuck the blanket tighter around myself and add, "I'm not going to the studio either. Let's just..." I trail off, my lips curving into a small smile, "stay home."
His eyes open and soften, he knows I'm being a little selfish but doesn't mind one bit. He shifts closer, his hand brushing along my arm. "You'd rather have me here." he says, like he doesn't expect it.
I nod, no shame in it. "Exactly. Stay with me today. Please?"
He just looks at me, like he's weighing the gym against me, but we both know there's no real competition. Then his lips twitch into the softest smile, and he leans in to press a quick kiss to my forehead.
"Alright." he murmurs. "I'll stay."
──────????°? ? ?°?? ??──────
I'm at the barre, stretching into a slow arabesque, my toes pointed, the familiar pull running down the back of my leg. The studio mirror- the one which he set up for me in his gym- catches my reflection.
The sound of water running drifts from the bathroom, Xavier is taking a shower right now.
It's strange, how quickly I've gotten used to this- his presence filling the space even when I can't see him. For so long, practice meant silence, only my breath and the creak of the floorboards. Now, there's him.
I lower into a plié, arms curving gracefully, and my lips twitch at the thought of him stepping out, damp hair dripping, towel around his neck, throwing some offhand comment about how I "make it look easy."
The water shuts off and a moment later I hear the door creak open.
I glance up in the mirror.
Xavier walks in wearing just black sweatpants, his hair still damp, clinging in dark strands that curl slightly at the ends. A towel hangs loosely around his neck, the lines of his shoulders and chest still gleaming faintly from the shower.
He doesn't say anything at first. Just stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe.
I hold the stretch a little longer, then release, rising slowly to my full height. His eyes follow every movement, not in the way strangers once did, not greedy but reverent, like I'm the only one in the room worth noticing.
That's how a man in love looks at his woman.
"You know," he says at finally, his voice low "I could watch you for hours and it'd never get old."
He pushes off the doorframe and starts walking towards me, slow and unhurried, his eyes fixed on me like I'm the only one that exists.
Flustered, I blurt out something silly just to fill the air. "You know, you should really try this stretch. Bet you can't even touch your toes."
For a beat, he doesn't react. Then, like always he looks away, his hand dragging through his damp hair in that familiar motion- ruffling it, sighing.
The picture of frustration.
He always does this. Does he find me annoying? Childish?
But now, I catch it in the mirror.
My chest tightens. Every time he's done this before, I thought he was irritated by my teasing or by something I said, at times I'd be convinced that I pushed too far.
He's not frustrated.
All this time it was never annoyance but it was him hiding the fact that I made him smile.
I grip the barre tighter just to ground myself. Because suddenly, I don't just feel seen.. I feel cherished.
Then I feel him. His steps close the distance until he's right behind me, his presence a heat I can sense before he even touches me.
His arm snakes around my waist, slow, sure, drawing me back into him. I let my hands fall from the barre, sinking into the pull of his body against mine.
He dips his head, his chin brushing my shoulder as his breath fans across my neck.
I melt against him, his warmth seeping through me, wrapping me up in a way that feels safer than anything else in the world. My fingers curl over his arm where it rests across my waist, and for a moment, I just close my eyes.
I could stay like this forever. Just him and me, his heartbeat pressed to my back, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding me more than words ever could.
But then a thought slips in.
I turn slowly in his arms, tilting my head up until I can see his face and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out.
"Xavier," I whisper, searching his eyes, "do you ever get mad at me? Or feel like I'm too much?"
His thumb brushes across my waist in absent circles, grounding me. I catch the flicker in his eyes, the way his brow dips, as if the very idea unsettles him.
His expression darkens just enough to make my heart skip.
Then his hands slide to my waist and he lifts me with a strength so effortless it steals my breath.
A soft gasp escapes me as he sets me down on the barre.
Well, mostly in his arms, since the wood is too thin to really hold me.
His grip steadies me, strong and sure, like he'd never let me slip.
My knees instinctively press against his sides for balance, and suddenly I'm eye-level with him. I swallow, words rushing out before I can stop them. "What if I'm not the one for you? What if I hurt you, Xav?"
"Amara," he says slowly, like he's tasting the sound of my name. He gently squeezes my waist "What if" he leans in, brushing his nose against mine, "you stop imagining ways to ruin us and trust me when I say you're it for me."
Imagining.
"You're not too much. You're exactly the one for me" he murmurs. "And if you ever hurt me?" He shakes his head as if the idea itself is absurd. "Then I'll survive. Because loving you is worth every bruise, every scar. Always will be."
His thumb brushes along my jaw, a feather-light touch that makes me shiver. "You don't get it, do you?" he says softly "You could set the whole world on fire Amara, and I'd still find a way to stand in the smoke with you."
The sharp buzz of his phone cuts through the quiet like a blade. It vibrates once, twice, against his pocket before he exhales, almost reluctant, and eases me down from the barre. His hands linger at my waist before he lets go.
He pulls the phone out, glances at the screen, then at me. His expression shifts as he answers. "Yeah?"
There's a pause as his eyes flicker to mine "Who and where the fuck?" His jaw tenses. Another pause, and then- "Fine, I'll come by 8."
The line clicks dead.
"Xav, what happened?" I ask, softer than I intend, as if my voice could calm the storm building in him.
He meets my gaze, and the words hit like ice. "We got the person who broke into your apartment."
My jaw goes slack, the floor seeming to tilt beneath me. "Who-"
"Amara." He cuts me off gently but firmly, his hand finding mine, squeezing tight. His eyes plead with me even as his tone sharpens. "You stay here, okay? Please, it's dangerous."
I shake my head, "It's not dangerous." I look straight into his eyes. "Not if you're with me. If you're there, I'm safe."