Page 67 of Unbroken

“I want you inside me,” I say, desperate now. “I’m on birth control. I trust you. I know you haven’t been with anyone. I need you.”

He shoves his boxers down and slides into me, thick and perfect, filling me to the brim. Stretching me until I’m trembling, gasping, mindless. Every thrust is a promise, every drag of his cock inside me a possession. He moves like he owns me. Because in that moment—he does. He fucks me until we’re both coming, and it’s everything. Raw and real and emotional. The kind of sex that changes something inside you.

I wait for the guilt. I expect it. But it never comes.

I love him. I wanted to comfort him. And it felt right. It still does.

“Stay there,” he says again in that low, growling voice. “I’ll clean you up, baby.”

His hand is warm again, comforting. I’m half-asleep when he returns with the washcloth and carefully slides it between my thighs, wiping me down. I make it to the bathroom, freshen up, but I’m still dazed, still spinning. I feel high. Victorious. I’m not alone in this feeling. He feels it too. But I need to get out of here—before the weight of what just happened hits. Before consequences catch up with us. Still, I don’t regret a thing. Not a single thing.

He climbs into bed with me, so sexy it should be illegal, and murmurs, “Don’t say a word about regretting this.” His voice is rough, raw. “I don’t. And I don’t want to be a regret for you.”

But then, in a quieter moment, he says it differently: “I never slept so well as I did that night with you. You can stay, Ruthie. You don’t need to go to the guest room. Stay here with me. Let’s get some rest.”

And I know what he means. Not just physical rest but the kind of rest that seeps into your bones. The letting go of everything—worry, grief, the gnawing fear about what’s coming next.

"Yeah," I whisper, "let’s get some rest."

Even as I say it, my mind refuses to still, already bubbling with questions. What did we just do? Where do we go from here? What does this even mean? But the feel of his heavy arm draped across my waist settles me more than anything else could. It makes my muscles soften, making me sink deeper into the mattress. He falls asleep long before I do, his breathing heavy and even, his body a warm, solid line at my back. And I find myself hoping—aching—that somewhere, somehow, Mariah will forgive me.

Chapter 12

RUTHIE

I wakeup the next morning tangled in sheets heavy with the scent ofhim.

The warmth of last night still lingers, and I roll over instinctively to find him—but he’s not there. The space beside me is cool. Empty.

And for one second, I fear it all—I stepped too far. He doesn’t want me. I was only a temporary replacement for the loneliness he felt, and I?—

Then I hear it, the running water in the bathroom. He’s in the shower.

Oh god.

Way to catastrophize things again, Ruthie.

I sit up quickly the moment I hear little footsteps padding down the hallway and then—the sound of Luka’s door opening. My heart jumps intomy throat.

Oh my god. Is he old enough to understand what it means if I come out of Vadka’s bedroom like this?

I scramble, tugging on a sweatshirt, my hair wild, my heart pounding, and bolt out of the room just in time—ducking into the guest room a second before Luka rounds the corner.

I throw the door open casually, stretching like I’ve been there all along, arms overhead, pretending I haven’t just staged a hasty escape from his father’s bed.

“Good morning,” I say brightly, forcing a calm smile.

He looks adorable, cheeks rosy, his hair an unruly mop of sleep-tangled curls.

“Good morning.” He grins, all teeth and innocence. “I’m hungry.”

“Of course you are. Let’s get you something to eat, buddy.” I glance toward Vadka’s room, but he’s still in the bathroom. A flicker of uncertainty passes through me. Are we going to talk about what happened last night? Do I even want to?

I know Luka’s routine now; I’ve been around long enough. I get him settled at the kitchen table with some toast, a sliced banana, and a cup of milk. His feet swing happily under the chair, his little face full of quiet contentment.

“Can you stay here today?” he asks, almost shyly. “I don’t want to talk to the mean lady.”

I know who he means. His nanny. And the guilt hits me harder than it did over anything I did with Vadka last night.

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