Kimi
At first, she didn’t know what had pulled her from sleep. The world was quiet—the kind of quiet that lives deep in the bones of a building. She blinked at the dim light spilling in from the hall, the worn dresser, her jacket hanging over the chair, the faint hum of the radiator.
She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, when she ran into what felt like a brick wall.
The solid presence beside her was warm, heavy, and breathing slowly.
The jolt of terror that ran through her froze her limbs.
She lay in the bed, not sure if she should move or if she even could move.
She worried that running from Cole had just been a dream and that she had woken up lying next to him—but that couldn’t be.
There was no way that she could have made up Gorgon or his entire club.
She found herself frozen to the spot, listening to the stranger’s frantic breathing rhythm next to her. It didn’t sound like Cole’s jagged breath or snores that kept her up most nights. No, this was steady, deep, and somewhat familiar.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she turned her head, and the dim light caught the edge of him—an arm draped across the blanket, hand loose, palm up.
Leather still clung to his scent along with smoke, frost, and something she’d started to associate with safety, which only made her pulse hammer harder. Gorgon.
For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.
It would fit, wouldn’t it? Her nightmares were always trying to twist into something she wanted to believe, but then, it would all be snatched away from her before she woke up.
But his breath brushed the back of her neck, real and unyielding, and the low rumble in his chest when he exhaled was proof enough to know that he wasn’t a dream.
He was asleep. Completely, utterly, deeply asleep.
She waited for her anger or panic, but what came first was stillness.
He looked wrecked. The kind of exhaustion that only came from nights spent standing guard through too many storms. His cut was hung over the end of her bed, and his shirt was clinging to him unevenly, his hair damp at the temples from melted snow.
He’d stumbled into her room and dropped wherever gravity let him.
He probably thought he’d made it to his own bed. “Jesus, Gorgon,” she whispered. “You don’t even knock anymore?” He didn’t answer. Just made a low sound, a murmur that brushed her skin.
And though she should have shoved him away, should have cursed and demanded he leave, her body betrayed her. It had been too long since warmth didn’t mean a threat. Too long since she’d felt safe enough to close her eyes beside another breathing soul.
So she didn’t move. Not right away. When she shifted slightly, his hand slipped across the blanket—landing at her waist, gentle even in his unconscious state. Instinct made her tense, but his touch was carefully absentminded like a man anchoring himself in his sleep.
And before she realized it, she’d curled toward him.
Her back pressed against the heat of his chest, her knees bending in reflex.
Not because she wanted to, but because her body remembered what it was like to be cold.
The rest of the night vanished in pieces.
Heartbeats, warmth, and the weight of silence settled over them both, and for the first time in a long time, she slept.
The crash of morning came with light cutting through the blinds and the deep stillness of someone else’s breath against her shoulder.
Awareness hit her hard as she snapped upright, hair spilling into her face, heart thundering.
His arm slid off her waist, and Gorgon stirred, his lashes flicking open in the weak daylight.
For a moment, he looked like a man trying to figure out which world he’d woken in. Then his eyes found hers, and the realization settled between them like a spark dropped on dry ground. Kimi couldn’t decide if she wanted to throw something at him or laugh at how startled he looked.
“Stop looking at me like that,” her voice cracked. “You’re in my bed, Gorgon.”
He blinked, still groggy, expression blank for one long beat. Then his brows knitted. “No, I—this is—” He stopped stammering, frowned as he looked around the room, and cursed under his breath. “Hell.”
She shoved his shoulder, more reflex than intent. “You think?”
He sat up slowly, dragging a hand over his face. “Buck said he’d take the watch. I thought this was my room.” Another curse erupted from his chest. “Guess I walked into the wrong room.”
“You guess?” Kimi snapped.
“I didn’t realize it until—” He looked at the bed, at her disheveled blanket, at where their legs were still tangled under it—and went still.
Her pulse felt as though it had tripled. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare make that face.”
“What face?” he said quietly, but there was the faintest hint of that maddening half-smile that made her want to hit him or kiss him, she couldn’t tell which.
“The smug one,” she accused.
“Smug? ” he asked. “I wasn’t being smug, Kimi.”
“I don’t want anyone to catch us in here together,” she breathed, shoving back the blanket, but when she tried to stand, he reached out, catching her wrist—not to stop her, just a soft reflexive hold that froze her mid-motion. The contact felt as though it had burned her skin.
“Let go,” she said, but her voice had lost its edge between one breath and the next.
His thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, not rough, not possessive—just a quiet reminder that the man was real, that all of this was. “You cold?” he murmured, his tone still dragged from sleep.
“No.” But her voice betrayed her, soft and uncertain.
“Then why’re you shaking?” he asked. She was shaking because part of her was furious, and another part wasn’t. Because the space between them was electric, and every inch of her skin suddenly remembered he’d been close enough to burn through her defenses.
Her hand came up before she could stop it—fingers brushing the stubble at his jaw.
That was a mistake. His breath hitched just slightly.
The rough warmth of him curled through her like an echo of the night before, and for a moment, all she wanted to do was trace that line of heat again.
But then, she caught herself, drew in a sharp breath, and yanked her hand back.
“You need to leave,” she said, voice tight.
He nodded once. “Yeah.” But he didn’t move right away. His eyes held hers a heartbeat too long, unreadable, that same quiet storm that lived behind everything he said or didn’t say.
Finally, he stood and pulled on his cut, the fatigue still heavy on his shoulders. “You sleep all right?”
Kimi threw him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “You’re asking me that now?”
A faint, tired smirk tugged at his mouth. “You didn’t look terrified anymore, so I decided that now was a good time to ask. Could’ve been worse.”
“Keep talking, and it will be worse,” she threatened with no real heat.
He chuckled once under his breath and headed for the door. Before leaving, he paused with his hand on the handle. “Next time, lock your door, Kimi.”
“Next time, find your own damn bed,” she shot back.
When the door closed and silence filled the room again, she collapsed back onto the mattress and pressed a pillow over her face.
The scent of him lingered there—smoke and cold air, steadying and maddening all at once.
She inhaled once and groaned into the fabric.
She should’ve screamed, thrown him out, done something. But she didn’t. And worse—now that he was gone, her body missed his warmth.
Outside, she could hear the bikes rumbling to life again, the club waking with routine.
But all she could think about was the brief, impossible peace of last night and the dangerous comfort of a man who accidentally slept in her bed and still managed to make it feel like she’d finally stopped running.