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His other hand slides into my hair - fingers combing through the tangles, smoothing them back like I’m something delicate. Reverent.
Which is extremely confusing considering he railed me into the dresser less than fifteen minutes ago.
I should say something. A joke. A snark. Literally anything except the soft, pathetic whimper that escapes me like I’m in the world’s filthiest Hallmark movie.
Lucian doesn’t speak. He just pulls me tighter and presses another kiss to my temple as though it doesn’t cost him five years off his lifespan.
I breathe him in as I lie there. Sticky. Shaky. Barely emotionally stable.
And I realize - horrifyingly - that I mightactuallylike this.
The quiet. The warmth. The fact that his knot is still very much a logistical issue I’ll be dealing with for the next however-many-minutes it takes for biology to remember I’m not built like a glow stick.
The bond hums. Not sharp. Not invasive. Just... present. And so is he.
My throat closes up as tears press behind my eyes, sharp and hot and unwanted. I blink them away.
I don’t cry. I’ve never cried for a man in my life.
But this…
This istoo much.
The softness of his touch. The absence of anger.
The way he’s still inside me and holding me like he wants to keep me there forever.
Neither of us speaks, but the bond?The bond sayseverything.
And for once, I let it be enough.
*
Sleep sneaks up on me this time. Not like before, when it came clawing with exhaustion and heat, when my body folded in on itself like an overcooked noodle and just gave up.
No, this time it comes warm. Gentle.
Lucian is still beneath me. Still inside me, knot and all, because apparently that’s a real thing I now factor into my nap schedule. His breath is steady against my hair. His skin is hot, his arms heavy, and for the first time in heaven knows how long, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for impact.
I don’t feel like I’m one wrong word away from unraveling.
I just…am.
And it’s not a disaster.
His chest rises and falls beneath mine. His arms are wrapped tight around my back. And there’s this terrifying, beautiful thought that settles over me like dew:
I’m safe here. Like, actually safe. Not fake-it-til-you-make-it, not Lexi-passing-me-a-shot-and-saying-“you’re fine, babe” kind of safe.
Realsafe.
Which is terrifying, because now I want it. Now I want them - all of them - and wanting something this much means it can be taken away.
But for the moment, I let myself have it. Just a minute of peace. Of stillness. Of not spiraling.
A full-body exhale.
And then, Lucian moves.
