Page 58 of Unclench Me Softly

I blink. “Me?”

He gives a dry, barely-there smile. “You’re the only one still here, looking like you might combust. Figured I’d check.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s almost gentle.”

He shrugs. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a brand to protect.”

We stand there for a beat. The silence settles between us, not awkward, just charged. The moonlight paints soft edges on him. And suddenly, I notice a shift.

He looks looser. Less guarded. Less like the hawk circling the retreat for flaws.

More like someone who actually... landed.

“You surprised me today,” I say.

He arches a brow. “Because I didn’t flee the minute someone howled into the void?”

“Because you did the nesting,” I say. “You built that little fortress like it was an emotional escape pod.”

He glances away, then back. His voice drops, quieter now. “Didn’t think I needed it. Turns out... maybe I do.”

And then he steps closer. Just one step.

But enough. Enough that I can feel his warmth. Smell the faint trace of whatever impossibly expensive product he uses that somehow smells like cedar and well-earned condescension.

“Want to know the weird part?” he asks.

I nod. Can’t speak.

“I didn’t hate it.” His voice is too calm for how fast my heart is pounding. “Didn’t hate the crawling. Or the dirt. Or even the howling. I thought I’d feel ridiculous. But instead... I felt free.”

I blink.

Because that wasn’t a confession. That was a warning.

He’s still watching me. Eyes sharp. Voice soft. “You’re good at this,” he says. “Too good.”

I laugh, shaky. “Miles, I made half of this up while applying moon glitter.”

“And yet,” he says, taking one more step toward me, “Here I am.”

We’re inches apart now. My back is to the tea altar. My breath has officially forgotten how to function. “You think this is real?” I whisper.

His eyes drop to my mouth. Stay there a beat too long. Return to my eyes with surgical precision. “I think,” he says, “Whatever it is... it’s working.”

He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to.

I feel him in my skin. In my pulse. In that desperate ache of maybe he would, if I asked.

And then he leans in close enough that his mouth brushes my ear when he speaks. “I also think you should stop looking at me like I’m safe.”

I freeze.

His voice is velvet and threat and slow-burn ruin. “I’m not,” he murmurs. “And you know it.” And just like that he steps back. Cool, composed, and controlled. “Sleep well, Bliss,” he says, turning into the dark.

I stare after him, mouth open, legs wobbly, heart raging.

My clit might never recover.

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