Another whimper escapes her lips, and her brow furrows.
I move silently toward her bed. I know the routine by heart—the soft sounds of distress, the way her breathing quickens, how her fingers clutch desperately at the sheets. Then the thrashing starts.
“Shhh,” I whisper.
She’s clutching a pillow to her chest tonight, and something violent erupts in my chest.
That fucking pillow.
It gets to be in her arms every night. Gets to feel her heartbeat. Gets to absorb her tears when the nightmares get bad.
That should be me.
Not fabric, not fluff.
Me.
Her heat against my chest, her scent in my lungs, her body knowing it’s safe in mine.
I should be the one whose name she whispers in her sleep.
“You know what, pillow?” I mutter, reaching for it. “Your time’s up. This is a hostile takeover.”
Her arms tighten immediately, and she makes this little sound—half protest, half plea—that goes straight to my cock.
Focus, Axel.
“Stubborn even in your sleep,” I growl. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way. I love the hard way.”
I watch her face, looking for an opening. Instead, she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, and a small smile touches her lips. She looks… content.
With a PILLOW.
“Oh, that’s just insulting,” I whisper. “I’m right here, Wildcat. Warm, breathing, considerably more fun than cotton stuffing. Also, I come with abs. The pillow doesn’t have abs.”
She hugs it tighter.
“Traitor,” I accuse her sleeping form.
I stand, pacing her room like the caged animal I am. Five steps to the window. Four to the dresser. Seven to the door. I’ve measured it all. I could tell you the exact square footage, the volume of air, and the precise angle of moonlight at every hour.
“You know what?” I tell the pillow. “You’re dead. You’re going in the wood chipper as soon as she wakes up. Yeah, I’ll buy a wood chipper just for you. Make it really dramatic. Maybe set you on fire first—”
A soft cry from the bed cuts through my murder planning.
She’s thrashing now, her peaceful expression replaced by terror. The nightmare’s got its claws in deep tonight.
“No, no, no.” I’m beside her instantly, all thoughts of pillow-homicide forgotten. “You’re safe, Wildcat.”
Her breathing is labored, tears leaking from her closed eyes. She’s fighting something in her dreams, and I can’t follow her there, can’t protect her, and it makes me want to tear the world apart.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, touching her forehead. Fuck the rules. “Nothing can hurt you. I won’t let it. I’ll kill anything that tries.”
And I mean it. I’d burn the world down for this girl. Already have plans.
She calms at my touch, melting into it like she recognizes me even in her sleep. Her death grip on the pillow loosens.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper, carefully extracting the offending cushion. “Let it go. Let me—yeah, that’s it.”
