LENA
The room was quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the faint crackle of the fire across the room. The bed still held the heat of everything we'd just done—everything we'd poured into each other—but now, in the silence that followed, something deeper settled between us. He hadn't let me go. Not for a second. Not when I collapsed against him, not when my breathing slowed. Not even now.
Dom's arm curled tight around my waist, like if he loosened it, I might vanish again.
His chest rose and fell behind me, steady now, but every exhale seemed like a silent question he wasn't sure how to ask. His thumb traced lazy circles over my hip, over and over again, grounding himself. Or maybe grounding me.
Still, he didn't speak.
And neither did I—because I was scared to break whatever fragile peace had landed here. I wanted to hold it just a second longer. But the guilt burned hotter than the silence.
