Page 95 of Shameless Royalty

I lift my chin slightly, my jaw locking. “Yeah.”

Da studies me for a moment, then nods. “Go on, then. Go back to him.”

I hesitate, my jaw clenching. “And what about everything else?”

His lips twitch slightly, but it’s not in amusement. It’s something darker. “Let me deal with that, son.”

I hold his gaze for a second longer, then nod once, turning on my heel and walking the fuck out before I lose my goddamn mind.

Chapter 39

Malachi

Thesoftglowofearly morning filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls. My body aches, a dull, lingering pain spreading through my ribs and shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest.

Sleep barely clung to me last night, restless and fractured, my mind replaying everything over and over again—the way Connor looked at me, the way he touched me like I was something fragile. The way he looked ready to go to war for me.

And now, as I slowly blink awake, my gaze lands on him.

He’s not in the bed.

Instead, he’s on the floor, his back against the nightstand, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. His head is tilted slightly to the side, jaw slack, his breathing deep and steady.

His hair is a mess, the usually styled perfection ruined from running his hands through it too many times, and even in sleep,his brows are slightly furrowed like his mind refuses to rest completely.

I stare at him, my throat tightening.

Connor Cunningham—cocky, arrogant, unstoppable—asleep on the goddamn floor because of me.

A tear slips down my cheek before I even realize it’s there, and I don’t wipe it away.

I remember the rage in his eyes yesterday, the way his whole body tensed when he saw me like he was barely containing himself. I remember the tremble in his hands when he touched me, the way his voice wavered when he spoke.

And now, he’s here. He stayed.

Something in my chest pulls tight—-and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach out.

My fingers brush over his cheek, slow and tentative, like I’m testing whether or not this is real, whether or notheis real. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the faintest roughness of stubble catching against my fingertips. His breathing shifts slightly, his lips parting just a little, and then, with a soft inhale, his eyes flutter open.

Green. Bright but soft in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

For a second, he just looks at me, like he’s trying to make sense of where he is, what’s happening, and what I’m doing. Then, slowly, a smile pulls at his lips.

Soft. Warm. Fuckingdevastating.

“Morning, Babyface,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in my throat, my fingers still resting lightly against his jaw. “Why are you on the floor?”

His lips twitch slightly, but there’s no teasing, no cocky remark, no arrogant smirk—just something else, somethingdifferent. “Didn’t want to hurt you by accident,” he says simply, voice low. “But I needed to be close to you.”

My chest tightens, my fingers twitching against his skin.

He’s not chirping back. He’s not playing games, not pushing just to get a rise out of me. He just looks at me like I matter.

Like I mean something to him.

The pressure behind my ribs grows unbearable, my whole body burning from the inside out, and I have to look away before I lose whatever grip I still have left. My hand drops from his face, my fingers curling slightly against the sheets. “Connor…”

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