Page 103 of Unbound
When we went back down for movie night, wrapped in soft cotton instead of daytime armour, I felt a layer of tension I hadn't known I was holding finally release. Adrian settled onto the couch first, and without really thinking about it, I found myself gravitating toward him. Not just sitting beside him, but curling into his side like I was seeking shelter. My body seemed to know what it needed even when my mind felt disconnected from everything.
Adrian's arm came around me immediately, solid and warm. A soft fleece blanket appeared over my shoulders—the one from our bedroom that smelled like him, like safety. I pulled it closer, breathing in the familiar scent that made something tight in my chest finally loosen.
I pressed closer without meaning to, my head finding that spot on his shoulder where it fit perfectly, as if it were meant to be there. His free hand settled gently in my hair, fingers moving in slow, soothing strokes that made my eyes heavy.
The opening credits rolled—something light, nothing that would trigger anyone—but I couldn't focus. The sounds felt too loud, the room too bright. But Adrian's heartbeat under my ear was steady, reassuring, and I found myself matching my breathing to his without conscious thought.
I must have dozed off in the warmth of his arms, because I woke hours later to find the room quiet and dark. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Adrian was still there, reading in the nearby chair by lamplight, keeping watch.
"You don't have to stay," I whispered.
He looked up, marking his place in the book. "I'm not going anywhere."
"What if I have nightmares?"
"Then I'll be here when you wake up."
"What if I never get better?"
Adrian set down his book and moved to the couch, settling beside me carefully. "Then I'll love you anyway. Broken or whole, traumatized or healed. You're stuck with me, Jesse Miller."
I leaned into him, feeling his warmth, his steadiness. For the first time since Montana, I felt like maybe I could breathe. I felt the solidness of his arms around me, the quiet hum of the house, the safety of the people sleeping under this roof. But sitting there, I realized it wasn't just about being safe anymore. A new thought rose, quiet but insistent. This was deeper than desire; it was a need to reclaim territory. To take the landscape of my own body—so long a source of shame, then a site of trauma—and plant a new flag. One of my own choosing.
I shifted, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Adrian," I whispered, my voice rough.
"Yeah?"
"I want…" I had to swallow. The words felt huge, momentous. "I want to feel like I'm mine again."
He watched me, his expression softening with a dawning understanding. He didn't push. He just waited.
"They tried to make my body a prison," I said, the words coming out in a rush. "A thing to be broken. I want to… I want to make it mine again. With you." I took a shaky breath, meeting his gaze. "I trust you to be inside me."
The directness of it hung in the air, raw and real. Adrian’s eyes glistened, and he brought a hand to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin with a tender pressure that made my nerves sing. "Jesse," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't have to prove anything."
"I know." My voice was surprisingly firm. "This isn't a test. It’s a choice.Mychoice." I leaned forward, my forehead resting against his. "And I want to be the one who lets you in."
Adrian’s breath hitched. "Are you sure?" he murmured, his lips brushing my skin. "One hundred percent? Tell me to stop at any point."
"I'm sure," I said, pulling back to meet his gaze. A slow, beautiful smile touched his lips. He nodded.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, Jesse. Lead the way."
I stood and took his hand, leading him upstairs. In the sanctuary of our bedroom, I closed the door. In the soft glow of the lamp, I turned to him and slowly peeled his t-shirt up and over his head. The lamplight gilded the planes of his chest and the sharp definition of his abs. When I was done, he looked at me, his eyes asking a question.
"My turn?" he whispered.
I just nodded, my throat suddenly tight.
With a reverence that made my skin prickle, he eased my shirt over my head. His gaze drifted over my torso, and he looked at me like I was perfect. His hands went to the waistband of my pants, and he slid them down my legs until I stood before him, completely bare. Then, a low sound escaped his throat, and he knelt before me.
"Jesse," he said, his voice thick as he gazed up at me. "Can I? Please. I want to taste you. Is that okay?"
The world narrowed to his upturned face, to the raw devotion in his eyes. He was not taking; he was asking to worship. I threaded my fingers into his dark hair. "Yes," I breathed out. "Yes."
His mouth was hot and impossibly gentle. Just before I could go over the edge, he slowed, pulling back enough to look up at me. He rose slowly and took my hand, leading me the few steps to the edge of the bed.
He sat on the mattress and looked up at me. "Jesse," he said, his voice low and serious. "For this to feel good… for me to do it right… I need you on the bed. Kneeling. Would that be okay with you?"
