Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Our heavy breaths fill the room, and I swear he has to be able to hear the thunderous roar of my heart. Time passes, but I don’t know how much. My eyes drift closed, and I don’t worry about what’s next or how tonight changes us. I relish in the afterglow of what he did to my body and ask myself when we can do it again.
I jolt when I feel a warm cloth between my thighs. “It’s just me. Let me clean you up,” he whispers.
My face heats with embarrassment. “I can do it.” I reach for his hand, but he stops me.
“No, baby. Let me take care of you.”
So, I do. I let him clean me up. He tosses the cloth through the bathroom door. I don’t know if he made it, but I hear it hit the floor with a flop as he moves to blow out the candles, before pulling the covers back and climbing into bed.
“Do you need anything?” he asks.
“Just this. Just you,” I say, snuggling close and resting my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and we drift off to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Foster
* * *
I awoke long before the sun, or should I say daylight. The rain is still falling outside, but the storm seems to have passed. I think it’s supposed to clear up later today, but I hope to be right here. That’s surprising for me, but it would take something pretty intense to pull me away from the woman sleeping soundly in my arms.
It’s been years since I’ve slept next to a woman. The last one was Violet. Any others after her were for a hookup only. There was no cuddling, no waking up with someone in my arms. Not until Eden. Not until last night.
When I first woke, I was startled, not used to having someone in my bed, but then last night came crashing back into me. Every fragmented memory lined itself up until it finally made sense. The result? I held her a little tighter—more out of reassurance than anything else. Her breathing was steady and warm against me, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected. I’ve been wide awake ever since, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the unfamiliar rush of panic to claw its way into my chest. I keep bracing for it, replaying moments, questioning what this means and what comes next. But the panic never arrives. Instead, there’s only this strange, quiet calm, heavy with thoughts yet oddly gentle, as if my mind is holding its breath, unsure whether to run or stay still.
Her body stiffens, just for a second, the smallest tell, but I’m holding her close enough to recognize it. She’s awake now. I need her calm, because this rare sense of Zen settling in my chest feels fragile, like it might shatter if I move the wrong way, and I’m not ready to let it go yet.
I shift closer instead, slow and careful, and nuzzle into the space just beneath her ear. I press a soft kiss there. Nothing rushed, nothing demanding. Just enough to remind her that she’s safe. That there’s no reason to pull away.
She’s with me. In my arms, and I’m sure it will be a surprise to both of us that it’s where I want her to stay, at least for a bit longer.
“Morning,” I murmur, my voice rough with sleep and disuse.
Almost immediately, I feel the change. The tension drains out of her shoulders, her body easing back against mine as if she’s letting herself sink into the moment. She exhales, long and quiet, and the calm I’m clinging to settles even deeper, shared now between us. For the first time since waking, I stop waiting for something to go wrong and stay exactly where I am—enjoying the feel of her safe, warm, and relaxed in my arms. No matter how unfamiliar the feeling might be, it’s welcome.
“Morning,” she replies, her voice laced with sleep and sounding sexy as hell.
“Sleep well?”
“Actually, I did. Better than I have in ages.” Her whispered confession lights a fire inside my veins. I did that. I gave her that peace, even for one night.
“Good,” I say, pressing my lips to her bare shoulder. Fuck, her skin is so soft.
“It’s still raining.”
“The perfect excuse to stay in bed,” I say, giving her a soft squeeze. She giggles, and I swear my heart lurches in my chest at the sound, as if the organ needs to get closer to her.
“We can’t stay in bed all day,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“We can if we want to.” And I really want to. I’m not ready for whatever this is to end. I don’t know what happens once I let her out of my bed. Do we go back to… normal, sharing meals, visiting the children’s home? Does she continue to work for me? The thought of losing those moments with her has my gut twisting.