Page 108 of Silver Fox Puck

Like the weight of the world isn’t crushing him.

And I did that. I gave him that. And hell if that doesn’t shake me straight to my core.

His arm slides off his face, dark eyes blinking open. And the second he sees me, he smiles.

Soft. Slow. Undoing.

"You left me."

His voice is rough with sleep, deep and devastating.

It hits me in places I wouldn’t admit out loud. I cross my arms. Smirk.

"I was going to make breakfast. But I settled on coffee."

He catches my wrist, tugs me down onto the bed.

"You can go back to that later," he murmurs, his lips brushing my shoulder.

A slow shiver races down my spine. And I relax; I stop thinking.

I just feel.

I could stay like this forever. Wrapped up in him.

Letting his warmth, his presence, his steady certainty drown out every lingering doubt still clinging to the edges of my mind.

But reality doesn’t work like that.

And as much as I want to ignore it, I know we can’t stay in this bubble forever.

Grant shifts beneath me, his grip on my waist loose, but firm enough to keep me from slipping away.

His fingers brush lazy circles against my bare skin, his touch slow, absentminded.

But his eyes?

They’re sharp.

Watching me like he already knows I’m overthinking. Like he’s waiting for me to pull away.

And that’s the moment I realize—he’s scared too.

He won’t say it. Won’t admit it. But it’s there. In the way his jaw tightens. In the way his hand slightly trembles against my waist. In the way he’s holding onto me, but not too tight.

Like he’s giving me the chance to run. Like he’s bracing himself for it.

And hell if that doesn’t make my chest ache.

"This isn’t casual, Flight."

His voice is low, steady, but there’s something deeper beneath it. Something he’s not saying.

I swallow. Nod.

"Yeah. I know."

His grip tightens against my waist.

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