Page 36 of Little Bird
A spark runs up my arm from the contact, like she’s an electric bulb shooting its warmth into my body, and I catch my breath.
My finger lingers on her cheek.
My skin begins to buzz as I remember the way she looked at me that first night, when I pulled into the parking lot and saw her arguing with her mother and that man. Her grateful expression when I got out of the truck and told her to get in…
Like I was the hero she’d been waiting for.
Like I was finally doing something right for someone.
And I stop thinking. I put all the other thoughts out of my head and slide into bed behind her, mindlessly, selfishly gathering her into my arms like she’s the only way I have of holding onto the earth and filling myself up. Like she’s my connection to life and I need her in my arms to stay alive.
Like she’s the home I’ve been searching for my whole life. The only one who’s ever been able to tell me that I’m worth anything.
My cock is hard as a rock, straining against my jeans with an aching intensity that I’ve never felt before, and I rock my hips against her once.
Twice.
I shouldn’t be doing this, a small voice in my head murmurs. This is wrong on so many levels. Being in her bed is a violation, and the thoughts running through my head of her naked and pushing back against me would send me straight to jail if anyone knew about them. But something about Christmas and the lights and having this girl in the house again have me going sideways, and I don’t know how to stop the slide. The world is flipped on its side and making very little sense, and with the business not doing well, the comfort of this girl and her smile...
They’re doing something to keep me tethered here, and I don’t have the heart to let go of that.
Not yet.
I pull her closer, not caring if I wake her. My need is so big, so powerful, and though my cock is screaming for her body, this is more than just a physical want. This is emotional, a wave so demanding I’m having trouble holding onto myself. I can’t breathe for wanting her, can barely think for how much I need her. It occurs me that I could have gone my entire lifetime without feeling this, and would have survived, but now she’s in my home, helping chop wood and decorate and cook. She’s forcing her way into my shop and making Gabe smile for the first time in years, and...
I exercise every ounce of self-discipline in my body and stop rocking my hips against her, telling myself that I have to control this urge. I take long, slow breaths and try to calm my raging hard-on, and before I know it, darkness is coming for me, courtesy of the small, comforting presence of Taryn in my arms.
And for the first time in years, I go to sleep feeling like I’ve found something that finally, exquisitely, makes sense. A safe space in a world that’s become cold and hard and unwelcoming.
My final thought before I succumb to sleep is that I know I can’t keep it. But for tonight, I’m going to pretend that’s not true.
Just one night. Surely after everything I’ve been through, I deserve that much.
When I wake, the window across from me is still midnight dark, and she’s gone.
I panic.
I sit up too quickly and let my eyes shoot around the room, half terrified that I’ll find her sitting there staring at me, but she’s not here. I grow still, panic running through me, and listen closely. Someone is down in the kitchen banging around, and I know from experience that it can’t be Gabe. He doesn’t leave his room in the middle of the night, and he avoids the kitchen like it might poison him if he touches anything in there.
And shit, if she’s up, that means she woke up and found me in her bed, up against her, and if I’m lucky, that’s all it was. If I’m unlucky, she also found me hard and aching and ready for her, and has already packed her things.
God, maybe she’s down in the kitchen getting ready to go. That thought brings me to an even higher level of panic, and I jump out of bed and almost run from the room. I hit the stairs moving too fast and immediately slip on the hard wood, my socked feet badly equipped for sprinting. I catch myself on the banister and force myself to slow down, descending the stairs with what pride I can gather.
I find Taryn in the kitchen in what looks like her pajamas, and a quick glance around tells me she doesn’t have any luggage with her.
She’s not on her way out the door. She’s... making cookies. Brewing coffee. And there’s chocolate boiling on the stove.
My brain makes such a U-turn from impending doom to domesticity that I nearly fall over in surprise. Taryn looks up at my sudden appearance, her face caught between surprise and a laugh, and I see that she’s not only baking but has also managed to smear chocolate across her cheek in the process.
My voice is hoarse when I speak. “You’re not leaving?”
Her amusement turns to confusion. “Why would I leave?”
“You’re baking cookies?”
She cocks her head at this question, which has nothing to do with the first. “Midnight snack,” she says slowly. “I do that sometimes when I can’t sleep.”
When she can’t sleep.
