Page 47 of Burned in Stone
“You were perfect,” I say, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve managed since the day I first set foot in Stoneheart. I tug him down and kiss him, slow now. Not the desperate meeting of mouths from before, but something that lingers, soaks into the marrow. He kisses me back like we’re the only people left, and for once, I let myself be entirely here—open, unarmored, whole.
Eventually he rolls to the side, pulling me with him. Our legs tangle. The room is quiet now except for our breaths, slowed and settling. I trace idle circles on his chest, watching the way his heart gallops beneath my fingertips. “So, is this like, the honeymoon suite or something?”
He laughs, loud and unembarrassed, that post-coital kind of happiness that feels almost too perfect. “It’s whatever you want it to be. But we might need to soundproof the walls. Or the whole building. You scream louder than you think, angel.” He wiggles his eyebrows, then immediately ruins the effect by swallowing hard, suddenly shy. “You sure you’re OK?” he asks again, tracing his thumb over the inside of my wrist like he’s still bracing for me to vanish.
I curl in closer, my forehead pressed to his shoulder, the unfamiliar comfort threatening to undo me in a whole new way. “I’m OK,” I say. “What about you?”
“I’m fucking great.” He answers without hesitation, even though the words don’t quite match the rawness in his eyes. But I believe him, because he’s smiling like an idiot and holding onto me like he’s afraid I’ll evaporate if he loosens his grip. Then he sobers, tracing my hair back from my face. “You’re not scared, are you? After…” His gaze flicks away, past the bedroom to somewhere I can’t see. “After I stopped you the way I did?”
“No,” I say, not even needing to think about my answer. “Nothing about you scares me.”
He lifts his brow a little like he doesn’t quite believe me.
“I mean it, Cash. I’ve never felt safer than I do with you.” I turn my face into his palm, breathing in the scent that clings to his skin—leather and exhaust and the clean sharpness of aftershave that’s just his. “You ask before you take, even when you’re starving. You slow down even when you’re about to lose your mind. You communicate when something isn’t OK. That’s not scary. That’s… I don’t even know.”
He considers my words for a moment, his thumb moving against my cheek. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. It just doesn’t always feel safe to let go. But I want to. With you, I want to.”
With you, I want to.Those words settle into my chest and make a home there. Because that’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Learning how to want things again. How to trust again. How to be vulnerable with someone who’s been hurt like we have.
We’re both walking around with scars that say ‘don’t touch,’ but we’re touching each other anyway. Carefully. Intentionally. Choosing each other even though it’s terrifying.
Maybe that’s what love is when you’ve survived what we’ve survived. Not fearlessness—just courage. The courage to say ‘I’m scared, but I want this anyway.’
There’s a prickling warmth behind my nose, the same feeling I get when someone gives me a compliment I can’t quite deflect—uncomfortable, exposed, and deeply, deeply hungry for more.
I tuck my chin tight against his chest, hiding my face there a moment while I try to get my breathing under control.
“Did someone…?” I don’t want to finish the question, but Cash seems to know where I’m headed. His fingers sweep gently over my hair, grounding me.
“Yeah,” he says after a long pause, “someone did.”
I don’t push, because I know how fast trauma can snap shut. I just keep my hand resting there, gentle, a quiet offer. “You ever wanna talk about it?—”
“I don’t.” He cuts me off, shaking his head as if shaking the memory away.
But he looks at me like I’ve offered him a lifeline, and for a second, I wonder if I understand what it means for a man like Cash to trust anyone at all. Maybe I’m not the only one who can’t fall in love normally, who needs to wreck every boundary before letting someone in. I want to say something—something big, something that cracks the ceiling between us—but words are never enough. Instead, I shift up to kiss him again, softer,slower, as if I can convince him with my mouth that I’m not going anywhere.I’ve got you.
“We should probably get cleaned up,” I say eventually. “That tub is calling my name.”
“In a minute,” Cash murmurs, his hand trailing down my spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“No?” I grin against his skin. “What else did you have in mind?”
He rolls me onto my back, his eyes dark with renewed hunger. “Trust me?”
“Always.”
17
CASH
Iwake up with Mercy pressed against me, her wild red hair spread across my chest like fire. For a minute, I just lie there, breathing her in, hardly believing this is real. After months of dancing around each other, she’s here. Mine. Wearing my patch and sleeping right next to me in a bed we’ve barely left since I brought her into the guest apartment on Saturday night. It’s now Monday morning. And to say it’s been a good weekend is an understatement.
“Stop staring,” she mumbles against my skin. “It’s creepy.”
“How do you know I’m staring? Maybe I was fast asleep and you just woke me up calling me creepy.”
“I can feel it.” She tilts her head up, green eyes still heavy with sleep. “Also, you breathe differently when you’re awake.”
