Page 83 of Ruthless Sin
I let him.
The sheet shifts when he breathes and I catch the shape of him below it, hard, unmistakable, and he doesn’t move to hide it. His jaw tightens once. His hand on the sheet between us goes very still.
After a long while my heart slows.
My breath evens.
My hands unclench.
My body stills.
I close my eyes.
His hand stays on the sheet between us. Close enough to close. Close enough that the warmth of it reaches my fingers without touching.
I don’t close it.
Not tonight.
I sleep.
The light at the window is gray when I open my eyes.
Dawn. Early. The household isn’t awake yet.
He hasn’t moved.
His hand is where it was. Palm down on the sheet. Close to mine.
He’s asleep.
His mouth is softer than it is when he’s awake. The line between his eyebrows is gone. His breath is even and slow. The pulse at his throat is steady.
The sheet has slipped lower on his waist while he slept, low enough now to show the muscle at his hip, the shadow below it.
He’s asleep with his face close to mine.
I don’t move.
I stay.
The pillow has creased the side of my cheek. I don’t lift my head or shift. I lie on my side with my cheek on his pillow.
I count in my head.
Raz. Dva. Tri.
The same count he gave me on the rug beside my bed when I couldn’t still on my own.
Chetyre. Pyat’. Shest’.
His ribs move when he breathes.
Sem’. Vosem’. Devyat’.
His hand curled loose on the sheet.
Desyat’.
