13. Celeste #4
He cleaned me with a gentleness that made my eyes sting, one hand resting lightly on my hip, the other moving with careful patience. He wasn’t awkward. He wasn’t hurried. He wasn’t acting like care ended when pleasure did. He moved like after was part of the promise too.
That nearly broke me more than the lovemaking.
When he finished, he tossed the washcloth toward the hamper and pulled one of his T-shirts from a drawer. He looked at me before bringing it close.
“Arms up, baby.”
I obeyed before my attitude could form a committee.
He slipped the shirt over my head, then eased my arms through the sleeves, smoothing the fabric down my body like he had every right to be gentle and none to be careless. The shirt swallowed me, soft and warm, smelling like him in a way that made my chest ache.
Then he grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and brought it to my mouth.
“Drink.” I lifted a brow. His face stayed calm. “Don’t start with me. Drink.” I took the glass and sipped. He watched until I swallowed enough to satisfy him, then took it back and set it down. “You need anything else?” I shook my head. His eyes softened. “Come here.”
He climbed into bed beside me, not crowding, not assuming, just opening an arm. I moved into him before I could talk myself into pretending I didn’t need the shelter. His arms closed around me, warm and firm, and he pulled the comforter over both of us.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The room brightened by slow degrees. Morning moved across the floor, catching the edge of his discarded shirt, my purple sandals near the bed, the note still sitting on the nightstand. Somewhere outside, a bird started singing like it had no respect for emotional privacy.
I rested my cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.
His hand moved slowly along my back, palm wide and warm, following the length of my spine like he was smoothing soil back over exposed roots.
“Celeste.”
“Hmm?”
“I need to say something.”
I lifted my head.
His eyes were serious. “This doesn’t make you trapped here.”
Emotion rose fast.
He brushed his thumb along my jaw. “You don’t have to know what forever looks like today. You don’t have to explain this to anybody before you’re ready. You don’t have to turn what happened between us into pressure just because it was powerful.”
“It was powerful.”
“I know.”
I smiled softly. “You know?”
His mouth twitched. “I was present.” I pinched his side. He caught my hand and kissed my fingers. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“I’m not coming up off you. But I’m not holding you hostage either. I’m going to keep showing up, keep telling the truth, keep moving at the pace peace can survive.”
My chest warmed.
“And I meant what I said. You’re safe and secure with me. Always. I’m going to prove that before I ask you to believe me.”
I studied his face.
There were no perfect men. I knew that better than most. But there were men who understood that love was labor, not performance. Men who knew desire didn’t excuse carelessness. Men who could hold fire without throwing it at everything fragile.
Josiah Brooks looked like one of those men.
And God help me, I was falling.
Not stumbling.
Falling with my eyes open.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
His hand slid over my back. “I know.”
“But I want you.”
His eyes softened. “I know that too.”
“I’m not ready to tell everybody.”
“We won’t.”
“Kayden is going to act a fool.”
“I’ll survive.”
“He might ask you for references.”
“I’ll print some.”
I laughed into his chest.
“He might glare.”
“I’ve been glared at by your outlets. I’m prepared.”
I lifted my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m rooted.”
“You’re something.”
He smiled and kissed my forehead.
His hand returned to my back, moving slowly, steady as rain.
I let my eyes close, but sleep didn’t come right away.
I was too aware of him. His warmth. His breathing.
His body beneath mine, strong and calm and real.
Too aware of myself too. The woman who’d walked into his house nervous.
The woman who’d woken up in his bed, untouched.
The woman who’d chosen him in the morning light and found no shame waiting afterward.
That was what stunned me most.
No shame.
Only tenderness.
Only awe.
Only a trembling gratitude that my heart, stubborn and bruised and dramatic as it was, still knew how to open.
I pressed my lips to his chest.
Josiah’s hand stilled. “You good?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
I smiled against his skin. “You’re going to ask me that forever, aren’t you?”
“If forever is on the table, yes.”
My heart tripped.
He kissed the top of my head. “Too much?”
“No.” I rested my hand over his heart. “Just enough to scare me.”
“Then we’ll let it scare us slow.”
I closed my eyes.
Outside, the morning kept rising.
Inside, Josiah held me like I wasn’t too much, not too late, not greedy for wanting love after love had already found me once.
He held me like my joy didn’t have to apologize to my grief.
Like my body didn’t have to carry shame for remembering pleasure.
Like whatever God was growing between us had roots already searching for water.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t ask the beginning to prove it would never end.
I just let myself be held.