Page 120 of Captivated
Nate’s pulse thrummed in his throat. He was close enough to feel the steam coming off Zeeb’s skin. His heart pounding, he touched Zeeb’s chest, just above the heart.
“You feel like a fire,” Nate whispered, not even knowing why he said it.
The storm roared outside.
Inside, a different storm was brewing.
The air got heavier, thicker, as though the rain outside had pushed everything inward. Nate moved closer, slower than usual, not defensive this time, his eyes open and uncertain.
Something had shifted, and Zeeb couldn’t suppress the shiver trickling through him. Nate removed his hand, and Zeeb had to fight the urge to demand he put it right back there. Then Nate’s hand brushed his, just barely, his fingertips grazing the skin.
Neither of them moved.
In that tiny, electric space, it was as though time had folded in on itself. Zeeb was aware of Nate holding his breath.
The way he held his own breath, as if letting it go might collapse everything.
Zeeb swallowed. Lord, he wanted to touch, but it had to be Nate’s decision.
“I won’t break,” Nate said, his voice steadier now.
Oh dear Lord, he feels it too.
Zeeb lifted a hand and brushed the back of his fingers down Nate’s jaw, keeping the touch featherlight. Nate’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing shallow.
“Okay?” Zeeb asked.
“Yes,” Nate whispered.
He traced the line of Nate’s cheekbone. The edge of his neck. He let his fingers rest above Nate’s collarbone, the skin warm there now, Nate’s pulse steady.
He isn’t afraid anymore.
Zeeb brought his hand up, slow and careful, and curled it gently around the side of Nate’s neck, just his fingertips, enough to ground him.
A shiver rippled through Nate, stilling Zeeb’s hand.
“You’re shaking.”
“I know.” Nate’s breathing quickened. “Don’t stop.”
Zeeb grazed his thumb along the hinge of Nate’s jaw, the movement almost reverent. Then he leaned in, pressing his forehead to Nate’s.
“Not stopping,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He could’ve kissed Nate in that moment, but he didn’t, caught up in a bubble of time filled with wanting without taking.
Zeeb sat back on his haunches, but Nate didn’t move, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his breathing more even. They didn’t speak again for a while, kneeling on the rug, bathed in the warmth from the stove, the storm quieting around them as if it had exhausted itself.
Zeeb wouldn’t touch him more than that. Not yet. But God, he wanted to.
Wanted to show Nate he could be held without pain, touched without fear.
But tonight, this was enough.
Nate didn’t move. He simply breathed, listening to the silence, lost in a moment where there was no pressure, no agenda, nothing but warmth, and quiet.
And hands that didn’t ask for more than he was ready to give.
