Page 65 of The Cost of Silence

Warmth. Breath. The heavy thrum of my pulse is slowly settling back into my bones.

For a long moment, I don’t move. I can’t. My limbs feel melted, boneless, like he wrung every last bit of tension out of me and replaced it with something slow and molten.

Nico’s breath brushing my temple, the scent of him everywhere, salt and heat and intoxicating male, something that feels branded into my skin.

He doesn’t speak at first.

He just watches me.

And the way he watches… God. No one has ever looked at me like that. Like I’m something he wants to memorize, not just touch. It would be so easy to believe this is real, that he’s mine and this is more, but it’s not. We’re just for now, not forever, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

My fingers drift up without me thinking, brushing the sharp line of his jaw. He closes his eyes for a second, like that small touch does something to him, and when they open again, they’re darker. Softer. Almost tender.

Dangerous, how much that tenderness undoes me.

He lowers himself just enough that our noses brush. Not kissing, not quite. Just breathing the same air, sharing the same space like it’s its own kind of intimacy.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice gravel scraped over velvet.

A laugh stirs in my chest, breathless and warm. “I don’t know if I remember how to speak.”

His mouth curves, not the smirk, not the cocky half-grin, something realer. Something only I seem to get.

“Good,” he says quietly. “I like you like this.”

My cheeks heat. “Boneless?”

“Ruined,” he corrects, his thumb grazing my cheek, following the shape of my jaw in a way that feels reverent. “Relaxed. Safe.”

Safe.

The word sinks into me like a stone dropped into deep water.

He shifts slightly, gathering me closer, his body still covering mine but the weight gentler now, protective rather than consuming. My legs curl around his hips instinctively, and instead of pulling away, he slides a hand along my thigh, soothing, grounding.

The air between us is warm and slow, but my mind is still buzzing with everything he made me feel, with the things hesaid, the way he touched me, like he was learning my body for the first time and planning to learn it all over again.

“Nico…” I whisper, not even sure what I’m trying to say.

He dips his head, pressing his lips to the hollow beneath my ear, not a kiss, more of a claim. A quiet, searing one. My breath stutters.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs against my skin. “Just stay right here.”

His fingers lace with mine, bringing my hand up to rest on his chest, right over his pounding heart. It’s steady, strong, grounding in a way that makes my throat tighten.

I don’t realize how emotional I feel until he strokes his thumb over my knuckles, slow and deliberate, as if he senses the shift inside me.

“I'm glad I didn’t break you,” he says softly, voice a low rumble against my shoulder.

I tilt my head to look at him, and his eyes catch mine, intense, unreadable, full of something I don’t dare name.

“I don’t break easily,” I whisper, except my heart feels like he could easily break it.

He smirks faintly, then leans in and brushes his mouth over mine, a soft, lingering kiss that has none of the heat from earlier but somehow feels more dangerous.

“Good, because I’m not done with you.”

Warmth blooms across my chest. My fingers curl into his shoulder, tugging him closer without thinking.