65. Renee

When he pushes inside of me, he holds my gaze with his. It doesn’t waver. It feels like it never will.

We start to move together, slow and tender at first, then harder and faster as the heat builds inside me. I meet every thrust, holding onto him for dear life. It’s impossible to stay mad—at him, at my parents, at myself—when this is all I’ve ever wanted.

Him.

This.

Us.

The weight of his body is perfection. Not too much, but enough to know that he’s there, in charge, the one making all the decisions, knowing what I want even before I do.

He kisses me again. Our breaths mingle and my hands grope for any part of him I can reach.

The pressure builds inside of me, so intense I can hardly breathe from the weight of it. He pulls me into his lap and sucks my lower lip between his teeth. Bucking up into me from below and whispering my name like it tastes better than anything else that’s ever crossed his tongue.

And then I’m flying and his body on mine is the only thing that keeps me from floating away.

I see stars. I see black. I see him, and I don’t want a damn thing else ever again.

If there’s something to fight for in my life, this is it.

I smile at him when he rolls off me and breathes out slowly. “Thank you.” I’m not thanking him for the sex and he knows it. I’m thanking him for saving me from the darkness.

He kisses my shoulder. “Wanna shower by candlelight?”

“I just want to lie in bed with you. Just… just hold me, please.”

He nods and shifts behind me, tucking me into the curve of his body. He combs through my hair with his fingertips. The sensation against my scalp makes me melt all over again.

“You better now?” he croons in my ear after a few quiet minutes.

“I think so.”

When he walked in, I was right on the precipice of a panic attack. The darkness was just too much. Too sudden and overwhelming. I was in that pitch-black hell again, right where my parents left me all alone. I’d stumbled to a seat on the floor, drew my legs up against my chest, and prayed that it would all be over soon.

I don’t know how he knew I needed him, but he did.

He came.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He lies back against the pillow and holds me as I twine my leg with his.

We fall asleep like that. Like the world is normal and everything is okay. It’s still dark, but that doesn’t matter.

Everything that matters is here.

It’s early when I open my eyes again. I’m not sure what sound woke me, but I slide out of the bed when I hear it again: something banging in the hallway.

Frowning, I pull on my robe and tiptoe to the door.

I pull it open and look out. Jackson is in the hallway, taking a running start at his door and ramming his shoulder into it. It’s a solid effort, but he doesn’t come anywhere close to even leaving a mark.

I leave the door open and walk into the hallway. “What are you doing?”

“I’m locked out.” He shakes his head and smacks the door with his open hand. “The fucking fob won’t work, I don’t remember my code, and I have no idea where I put my backup key.”

“Do you want to come in?” I motion to the open door behind me.

“Your boyfriend still in there?” he asks knowingly.

My skin goes hot, probably a lovely shade of crimson. “Uh, yeah, he’s in there.”

“Maybe you could go in and get my spare key from wherever Sutton keeps it. I gave it to her when I lost my first copy a while back.”

“Um, sure.” I turn to head back, but when I get to the door, I stop and shoot him a look over my shoulder. He hasn’t moved and is still watching me, like he never looked away. There’s something weirdly predatory in his gaze. “You don’t know where she keeps it, do you?”

“On a hook inside the cabinet with the wine glasses. She said it’s her secret hiding place.”

I duck inside, retrieve the key, and bring it back to the hallway. He takes it from me with a muttered “Thanks.”

I feel like I should say more than “You’re welcome,” but I don’t. Partly because I don’t know what to say and partly because the less I say to Jackson, the less I’ll have to lie to Weston about.

And I can’t very well claim the high road if I’m a big, fat liar.

He opens his door, then hands the key back over. “See you around,” he says with another weird inflection in his voice before he shuts the door.

I shudder like someone just walked over my grave, then I go back to Sutton’s unit.

Weston is up and on his feet when I step into the guest room. “What were you doing?” he asks, scowling.

“Oh.” And because I don’t want to ruin the moment we shared last night, I do something stupid: I lie. “I was, uh, in the hall.”

“I see that.” He’s frowning, but he’s still gloriously naked, which undercuts the drama a little bit. “What were you doing in the hall?”

I don’t want to tell him about Jackson because I don’t want to fight. Not when things are still so fragile between us.

“I just wanted to make sure that the power was back on throughout the entire building.” I’m a horrible liar, but when he nods and walks past me to the kitchen, I guess it works.

I can’t believe he bought it, but since he did, I’m not going to risk screwing up by talking about it further. And I’m not going to let him screw anything up, either. Instead, I drop the robe and wait for him to come get me.

He doesn’t disappoint. He sets his glass of water on the counter, charges around, swings me into his arms, and carries me back to the bedroom.

It’s a couple hours before we speak much at all. When we do, Jackson is a distant memory.