Chapter 9

9

Beck

S unlight was streaming through the curtains when I groggily opened my eyes the next morning. I was more rested than I'd been in months, and it took everything in me not to do a whole-body stretch while still lying in bed next to Clarke… and Tank.

Tank who'd slept with his hand on my hip all night. Tank who'd crawled into bed without question because Clarke asked him to. And somehow, he'd sensed I'd needed him, too without me ever saying a word. My chest tightened. How long had it been since someone had taken care of me in such a simple way?

How was a big, burly man like him so… kind? I'd watched him drop bodies. Seen the cold, dead look in his eyes as he did so. He'd held me at gunpoint and threatened to end my life. I knew there was darkness inside of him. Coldness.

But looking at him now, he was sort of like a giant, overprotective teddy bear—just a really buff one. And it made me tingle inside. Made me crave him as much as I craved Clarke. Tank made me feel safe, and while I was Clarke's protector and would do anything in the world to keep her safe, I wanted to feel safe, too. I wanted someone to give a damn about me as much as I loved and protected Clarke.

Was that too much to ask?

I eased out from beneath Tank's warm hand, immediately shivering after as if his hand alone had been providing my body with warmth. After gingerly easing off the mattress, I stood beside the bed and finally stretched. And then, I stared at the beautiful image of Tank and Clarke cuddled close together. His frame dwarfed her much smaller one, practically swallowing her inside his body. But damn, they looked perfect .

Would I look that good in his arms, too?

Biting back a longing sigh, I quietly walked around the bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet as I made my way to the bedroom door. The hinges didn't so much as squeak as I opened it and slipped out, quietly shutting it back behind me.

When I emerged into the kitchen, I blinked at the state-of-the-art appliances in front of me. The man—Alejandro, I thought I remembered his name being—had definitely not skipped out on any luxuries in the safe house. It was almost like booking an AirBNB and being on vacation.

Figuring I could make myself a little useful—and since I actually liked cooking, even though I hadn't got to do it much until after I went to college and moved into an apartment—I began working on breakfast: eggs, bacon, and pancakes. I even started the fancy-ass coffee maker, knowing how irritable Clarke could be without her morning caffeine.

But would she still want caffeine? Was that something she still craved? She hadn't had it in months. What if it made her upset to smell coffee, something that was part of her normal life before she'd been snatched out of her bed in the middle of the night and tortured for months?

"Smells good in here," Tank rasped from behind me.

Yanked from my thoughts, I spun around in surprise, blinking at the sight of him. He was still in the clothes from yesterday—the clothes he'd also slept in, which I knew couldn't have been all that comfortable. His hair was sleep-mussed, and there was a light crease on his cheek from sleeping in one position for so long.

"I, uh, made breakfast," I stammered. "And coffee."

Tank smiled at me before walking around me to the coffee pot. He grabbed one of the mugs hanging from the bottom of the cabinet and set it down before pouring the steaming coffee into it and taking a sip of it. I scrunched my nose up at him.

"Black coffee?" I asked incredulously as I took the final pancake out of the pan and set it on one of the three plates I had set out.

Tank smirked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. "You sound offended."

"I should be," I muttered. Plain black coffee—no sugar, no creamer added—was an abomination. He chuckled, the sound low and husky, and fuck , the way my cock hardened at the sound… It was the sexiest thing I'd heard in, well, ever. It sent a shiver racing down my spine, and the urge to make him laugh again almost consumed me. "Coffee should be sweet and light-colored."

Tank smirked and set his mug down before grabbing another and looking at me. "Teach me how to make coffee the way you like it."

I blinked at him in surprise before my cheeks flamed red. I quickly turned away from him, pretending to busy myself with finding hot sauce and ketchup since Clarke liked both on her eggs, but the one she decided to use depended on the day. "Um, four teaspoons of sugar," I told Tank, still not looking at him. "And fill the mug with liquid coffee creamer about a third of the way."

"Jesus fuck, that's a recipe for diabetes," Tank grumbled under his breath, making me quietly laugh to myself. But still, I heard him rummaging around, following the instructions I'd given him. My breath hitched in my throat when he suddenly came up behind me, the front of his body pressing into my back. All I could focus on was the heat radiating off of him and how his much bigger frame covered me. Swallowed me whole.

"Here," he murmured, his breath fanning over my ear as he leaned over me just a little to set the coffee mug down on the counter in front of me. I blinked, trying to bring my brain back online. "Taste it and tell me how I did."

I was thankful my hands didn't shake as I grabbed the mug in both of my hands and lifted it to my lips, letting the heat seep into my fingertips. When I sipped it, I sighed, my eyes fluttering shut.

It was perfect .

"This is so good," I moaned, taking another sip. Tank made a noise behind me—something a mix between a moan and a choke. I tightened my hold on my mug, my breath hitching in my throat when I felt his cock swell against my ass. But just as fast as his body had reacted, he stepped back from me as if I'd burned him.

I didn't turn to face him, no matter how much I wanted to. I wanted to see his face, but I was also afraid to see rejection there. And fuck, I couldn't handle that—not today. Not after the shitty few months I'd had. I wanted to stay stuck in delulu-land for as long as possible.

"I'll get the table set up if you want to wake Clarke," Tank finally rumbled.

I nodded quickly and set my mug down before darting out of the kitchen as if a rooster was chasing me. When I was in the bedroom, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, pressing my fingertips against my eyeballs as I drew in a long, shaky breath.

Tank definitely wanted me—or at least, his body did. But what about the rest of him—the part that actually mattered?

Blowing out a soft breath, I leaned my head back against the wall and dropped my hands, opening my eyes to stare up at the ceiling. I needed to get myself together. Now was not the time to be wanting Tank. Fuck, I could barely even admit to Clarke how I felt about her, and here I was, adding another man into the mix.

What I needed to focus on right now was surviving this and getting free—completely free. Living a life where protection wasn't needed. That was what was important.

My yearning for Tank had to stop.