Page 101 of Priest

I nod once because anything more might break me wide open. For once, telling the truth doesn’t feel like handing someone ammunition. It feels like setting down a weight I forgot I was carrying.

32

Blue

I don’t realize how tightly I’ve been holding myself together until he finishes talking.

Not until the weight of his past settles into the quiet between us. Not until I understand that the walls I thought were still standing had already started to crumble long before I ever ran.

His hands are still on my legs. Warm. Steady. Familiar now in a way that makes my breath catch instead of my spine stiffen. The touch changes without warning — not rougher, not faster — just more intentional. Like he’s no longer afraid to let himself feel it too.

I shiver.

He notices immediately.

His head lifts, eyes darkening, mouth curving with something low and dangerous. A sound rumbles out of him, deep in his chest, and before I can decide if I should stop this, he’s already moving.

He lifts me easily, strong arms pulling me onto his lap, adjusting instinctively so my belly is supported, so I’m settled against him instead of crowded. His forehead presses to mine.

“Do you think,” he murmurs, voice rough, “you could ever forgive me?”

The question isn’t dramatic. It’s vulnerable. That’s what gets me.

I exhale slowly and run my fingers through his beard, grounding myself in the texture of him. “How do I know you’re ready for this?” I ask softly. “That you don’t still have walls up. That you won’t keep me out. Or our child.”

His hand slides to the side of my belly, reverent. The other threads into my hair, holding me steady without trapping me.

“Because before you heard what you heard,” he says quietly, “my walls were already crumblin’ where you were concerned. You’d already drilled your way through. I was seconds away from realizin’ it on my own.” His thumb strokes my scalp. “You runnin’ only sped it up.”

Then he kisses me.

I hesitate — just a heartbeat — the instinct to protect myself flaring out of habit. But the moment his mouth touches mine, that familiar spark ignites. The one I’ve tried not to think about. The one that’s been there since the beginning.

I melt.

A soft sound slips from me before I can stop it. He takes it as permission, deepening the kiss, coaxing instead of demanding. When he licks gently at my lips, asking, I open for him. His growl is quiet but unrestrained, and the sensation sends heat curling low in my belly.

His mouth trails from mine to my jaw, down my neck, leaving a path of sensation that makes my toes curl. When he reaches the collar of my sweater, he leans back, eyes dark and intent.

“I want this off,” he growls. “I want to see you. All of you. Full of me. Growin’ our baby.”

The possessiveness should irritate me.

Instead, it sends a tremor through my body.

I lift my arms without a word, letting him pull the sweater free. His breath stutters when he takes me in, like the sight of me has hit him somewhere deep and unguarded.

Then he freezes.

His eyes drop to my belly just as I feel it — that unmistakable rolling flutter beneath my skin.

“Was that—” he breathes. “Did the baby just move?”

I laugh, warmth spreading through me as I take his hand and place it where the movement was. “Yeah. Feel?”

His eyes go impossibly wide, awe softening everything sharp about him. His smile is unguarded. Proud. Almost boyish.

He lowers me back gently onto the couch, then drops to his knees, pressing kisses to my belly, hands cradling it like something sacred.