Page 148 of Ruined Vows
I want him here, next to me. Always. And that’s when the wetness I’ve been holding in escapes my eyes.
“You saved them,” he says fiercely, like he can hear the guilt still tearing through me. “You saved yourself. You’re stronger than any nightmare. But I’m here for you,” he reassures me. And it’s the first time someone understands how debilitating the past can be, and he’s okay with it.
Another tear slips loose, and he catches it, his thumb slow, gentle. His touch lights something dangerous inside me, something I don’t dare name.
I look up at him through the blur, speechless. But this man has touched parts of me no one else ever has, and no one else ever will.
He’s so close that if I leaned in—just a little—I could kiss him. But the thought of making the first move terrifies me more than the dream.
Because kissing Vukan wouldn’t be a mistake, it wouldn’t be weakness, it would be surrender.
And God help me—part of me wants to surrender to him more than I want to breathe.
But I don’t move. Neither does he. He just stays there, steady, real, waiting, and letting me choose.
Then he shifts, pulling me down into the bed with him and tucking me tightly to his side like he already knows what I need. His fingers slip into my hair, stroking my head, and the repetitiveness soothes me. It’s scary how he does little things like that and how effective they are at giving me exactly what I need.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into the dark.
I press my forehead to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, and take comfort in the slow rise and fall of his breath. I never want to picture my life without him in it.
I’m not just falling out of the nightmare. I’m falling into something else. Something dangerous, but also something beautiful. And that terrifies me more than blood or violence ever could because I’m falling for him.
And no matter how much it frightens me... I don’t want to stop.
I wake slowly,the gray light of early morning bleeding into the room. For a moment, I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I just feel. I’m comfortable and relaxed, and for the first time since living with Vukan, I don’t feel the need to run away from it.
Is this what normal is? The quiet, comfortable silence? The heartbeat next to mine and the serenity that comes from the knowledge that the man beside me will never quit on me?
His arm drapes over me affectionately and protectively. His hand rests on my hip, his fingers brushing the bare skin between the hem of my camisole and the waistband of my shorts. His solid body presses into mine, and his breathing is deep and steady.
I turn slightly, just enough to see him. His face relaxes in sleep, and the hard lines soften. Almost boyish. Almost. But I know there’s nothing soft about the man, not really.
I should pull away. I could slip out of bed before I do something reckless. But I stay to savor the feel of him and the way his chest rises and falls against my back. The rough scrape of his jaw when he shifts and brushes my shoulder.
Desire curls low in my belly. I want him. Not just his touch. It’s not just how he looks at me like he’s starving; it’s because his look conveys I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.
I want him to take me, push me out of my comfort zone, and knock down whatever walls I have left. I want him to claim me so completely that I forget why I ever tried to stand alone.
I shift back against him, just enough to press my body into him and feel his morning wood.
“Bianca,” he rasps, his voice still thick with sleep and something darker.
I turn into his arms, deliberately, until I face him. The air between us crackles when his eyes meet mine, heavy-lidded and soaked in primal desire. I reach up, my fingers brush his jaw line, and I trace the stubble of his skin. My body arches toward his. I don’t speak. I don’t need to because he sees it in my eyes and feels it in the way I tremble.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine.
“I don’t want you to stop.” I breathe the words against his mouth.
Something in him snaps. Or maybe it’s me.
He kisses me roughly as his mouth crashes onto mine. I open to him without hesitation. It’s fire. Hunger. And it’s everything I never let myselfneeduntil now.
His kiss claims me. And maybe he does, too.
A soft gasp escapes me as he deepens the kiss, and his warm tongue slides against mine, tasting, taking, and it consumes any doubt. Heat crashes through me, a wildfire consuming every fiber of my being. I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. I can’t get enough of him. I breathe him in—the scent of musk and bergamot fills my senses.
He growls, low and deep, it’s a sound that vibrates through me, making me ache. His hand slips over my breasts, his fingers splaying against my skin, rough and possessive. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breathing is ragged.
