Page 45 of Fallen Heir
A few hours later, I parked half a block from her building, the windows down, letting the cool air cut through the heat crawling under my skin. I didn’t have a plan—just instinct.
She hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called.
Not that I expected her to.
But I couldn’t sit still, not after that conversation with Ben. Not after hearing the fear in her voice after the call. I had to see her. Not for some update. Not for strategy.
Forme.
I shot her a quick text as I walked toward her door.
Me:
Heads up. It’s me
I didn’t give her time to respond. I wasn’t asking permission. She was in no state to come to me. So I went to her.
The knock echoed softly, and a few moments went by before I heard the deadbolt unlatch. When the door cracked open and I saw her—reallysawher—my breath caught.
She was in leggings.
Black, fitted, and hugging every curve like they were custom-made for sin. An oversized cream sweater hung off one shoulder, the collar loose enough to show the strap of a bralette. No makeup. Barefaced. Hair pulled back in a messy bun like she hadn’t even looked in a mirror.
She looked like comfort. Like softness. Like something I didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop craving.
And God help me—
Every primal instinct in me went feral.
I wanted to tear that sweater off her.
Wanted to press her against the wall and make her forgeteverything that haunted her.
Wanted to taste the skin that sweater barely hid, to learn the shape of every scar and remind her she wasn’t broken—she wasstill here.
Alive. Strong. Beautiful.
“I—uh,” she started, her voice catching. She looked like she hadn’t expected me to actually show up.
“I needed to check on you,” I said, voice low. “after what happened earlier…”
She stepped back to let me in, eyes flicking away like she couldn’t meet mine for too long.
Like shefeltit too—the pull. The heat.
The tension between us was suffocating. Thick. Loaded. Unspoken butundeniable.
She padded barefoot across the living room and curled into the corner of her couch like she’d done it a hundred times. No pretense. No armor.
Justher.
I sat on the edge of the armchair across from her, elbows on my knees, doing everything in my power not to let my eyes drop to the bare skin just barely hidden beneath that sweater.
“You look…” I stopped myself.
She raised an eyebrow. “Like hell?”
“No.” My jaw flexed. “You look real.”
