Page 55 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

My fingers brush lightly across his chest, and he exhales, a low sound that makes my pulse skip.

I’ve never felt this safe.

That’s the part that hits me hardest.

Not the sex—not the tenderness or the way his hands made me feel like I was made of glass and steel all at once—but this.

Theafter.

The not-alone part.

The quiet.

I always thought safety was something you earned through control. Through walls and distance. Through never needing anyone enough to get hurt.

But this?

This is safety.

His warmth.

His weight.

The way he stayed through the storm inside me and still looked at me like I was worth the wait.

Jason stirs.

His hand tightens at my waist, thumb brushing bare skin.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice rough and half-buried in the pillow.

“Hi,” I whisper.

He cracks one eye open, and that sleepy grin—the one that always hits me like sunshine through fog—slides across his face.

“You’re still here,” he says softly, like he’s checking.

I nod, heart thudding.

“I’m glad,” he says. “Didn’t wanna wake up and think I dreamed it.”

“You didn’t.”

His brow furrows. “You okay?”

I nod again, slower. “I’m… good. I think.”

“You think?” he teases gently, nudging his nose against mine.

“I don’t know how tobethis okay. It’s new.”

His hand cups my face, thumb tracing the base of my jaw. “You’re safe here.”

I close my eyes.

Those words—they undo me a little.

He must feel it. Because his lips brush my forehead, then my cheek, and finally, lightly, my mouth.

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