Page 88 of The Cost of Silence

She whispers my name again, soft, aching, like a prayer.

Flopping down beside her, I gather her in my arms and answer with a slow kiss, one that starts soft but quickly has me wanting her again. “Are your ribs okay? Did I hurt you?” The thought is repulsive to me and guilt squeezes my chest.

“I have ribs? I thought I was boneless.”

I laugh at the drugged look in her eyes, searching for the truth, that I might have hurt her accidentally and find none.

Then I trail heat along her jaw, down her throat, to the place where her heartbeat thrums against my lips.

“How can you be ready to go again? I can hardly move,” she asks with a smile.

Nuzzling against her neck, I answer, “Because you’re a fucking goddess and I can’t get enough of you.”

“Hmm. I like that answer but you need to feed me first.”

As she says it, her stomach rumbles and we both laugh.

“Fine, food and then I’m going to fuck you in the shower.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The room is quiet except for the soft sound of her breath and the whisper of pine-scented air.

Outside these walls, everything is uncertain.

But here, under this tree, in this moment, she’s safe.

She’s mine.

And I’m going to worship her until she forgets anything ever hurt.

I pull back just enough to look at her fully, illuminated in warm gold and soft shadow.

“Thank you for today, Nico,” she whispers, brushing a kiss over my lips.

“You’re welcome, Belle.”

She exhales shakily, eyes glistening, voice barely there. “Nico… you’re going to ruin me.”

I smile, just for her. She thinks I’m going to ruin her but the truth is, she’s going to ruin me.

“Not ruin,” I correct softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Just remake.”

And then I lower my mouth back to hers, the tree lights flickering above us like stars melting into the dark.

25.Isabella

Morning shouldn’t feelthis soft.

Morning shouldn’t feel like warm sheets and the smell of pine and the faint hum of Christmas lights still glowing on a timer. Morning shouldn’t feel like being wrapped in Nico’s arms while his breath curls slowly against the back of my neck, his body heat soaking into every inch of me.

But it does.

And God help me, I never want to wake up any other way.

I try to slip out from under his arm with surgical precision. The man sleeps like a silent, coiled beast, and I fully expect him to snap awake at the slightest shift, but he only groans low and tightens one arm around my waist.

“Don’t move,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep.