Page 75 of Damian
Ruby had drifted back to sleep on the couch, wrapped in her blanket, her breathing soft and even. I tucked the edges tighter around her and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She didn’t stir.
Behind me, Damian leaned against the doorframe, watching with that look that always unraveled me—like he was memorizing us, like we were the only thing anchoring him to the ground. He was battered, bandaged, and so damn stubborn he’d come straight to us instead of the hospital. But he was here.
“Come on,” I whispered, crooking a finger at him. “You’re not sleeping on your feet tonight.”
He followed me into the bedroom without protest, though I could see how much every step cost him. When he sank onto the bed, a hiss slipped through his teeth.
“You’re hurt more than you’re saying,” I accused softly, sitting beside him.
He gave me that crooked smile, even through the grimace. “I’ve been worse.”
“That line doesn’t work on me anymore,” I said, tugging the edge of his torn shirt away to check his bandages. Blood had seeped through, but not dangerously. I pressed gently, and his breath stuttered.
My throat tightened. “Let me take care of you. Please.”
His hand caught mine, calloused fingers lacing through. “You already did. Every second I was in that compound, I kept seeing your face. Hearing your voice. That’s what got me out.”
The ache in my chest broke open, sharp and tender. I leaned down, kissing him slow, careful of the bruises, the cuts. His hand slid up the back of my neck, pulling me closer, deepening it until my breath caught.
We lay back together, tangled in the sheets, the world outside forgotten. My fingers traced the scars on his chest, the fresh bandages across his ribs, and he let me—no armor, no deflection, just him.
“I’m not letting go,” he murmured against my hair. “No matter how bad it gets, no matter how far I have to go. I’ll always come back to you.”
Tears blurred my eyes, but I smiled through them, pressing my face into his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart. “Then I’ll always be waiting.”
We drifted like that, the storm finally behind us, the weight finally lifted. For the first time, I felt what it meant to breathe without fear.
And with Ruby safe in the next room, and Damian’s arms locked around me, I finally let myself believe in tomorrow.
101
Morgan
For the first time in what felt like forever, the night was ours.
Damian stretched out on the bed, his body warm and solid beneath mine, his breath steady against my throat. The bruises and bandages didn’t stop him—not when his hands slid slow over my skin, careful and reverent. He touched me like I was fragile, yet kissed me like I was the only thing anchoring him to life.
I cupped his face, brushing my thumb over the rough stubble along his jaw. “You don’t have to be careful,” I whispered.
His eyes burned into mine, fierce and tender. “I almost lost you. I’ll never be anything but careful.”
My heart clenched, but the ache turned molten when his mouth captured mine. The kiss deepened, urgent and consuming, and I melted against him. The world narrowed to the slide of his hands, the heat of his body, the way he groaned my name like it was a vow.
Clothes fell away, barriers stripped as easily as fear. He eased me down beneath him, every movement measured,every touch deliberate. My back arched when he pressed into me, the feeling dissolving into a rush of heat that stole my breath.
“Damian,” I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, careful of the bandage.
He moved slow at first, like he was memorizing me, every roll of his hips a promise. Then his control cracked, need surging, and he thrust deeper, harder, until I was clinging to him, biting back cries against his throat. His hand slid down, finding me, pushing me higher, and I shattered beneath him with a sob of his name.
He followed with a guttural groan, his body locking tight, every muscle trembling as he buried himself deep. His forehead dropped to mine, breath ragged, our hearts pounding in rhythm.
We stayed tangled together, the world finally still. He kissed me again, softer this time, like he’d put his whole soul into that single press of his lips.
“I’m not letting go,” he whispered against my mouth.
“Good,” I breathed back. “Because neither am I.”
And for the first time, it wasn’t survival. It was love.
