Page 77 of Shattered Obsession

She kisses my shoulder, soft where everything else between us is sharp. Closing my eyes, I hold her, tight as I can without breaking her. I swear to myself that I’ll learn how for her, always for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

-Thalia-

The room is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and the intensity of our shared passion, the sheets twisted around us like a physical testament to everything we just poured into each other. My body thrums with that sweet ache that follows a total surrender to desire, every limit pushed and then obliterated. Yet, it’s the stillness that wraps around us now, heavy and charged, that leaves me feeling both elated and vulnerable.

Xander remains motionless for a moment longer, his form hovering above me, breaths ragged and disheveled. His forehead presses gently against mine, grounding me. I’m acutely aware of the tension that still courses through his muscles.

His hands, once fierce and commanding, now glide softly down my arms, brushing away strands of damp hair that cling to my flushed face.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice a low rumble infused with concern. It feels like more than just a question; it’s a raw invitation to lay bare my heart. I nod, words caught in my throat, too tight and filled with all that has just transpired between us.

My pulse hasn’t settled yet. It beats like a frantic warning against my ribs, reminding me that vulnerability feels a lot like standing barefoot on broken glass. I’m still adjusting to being seen so completely. Xander’s fingers trace slow patterns over my skin, and each pass leaves a trail of warmth that spreads through my chest like wildfire. I’m not used to someone handling me with reverence.

Damian grabbed.

Xander holds.

There’s a difference so sharp it almost hurts.

Sometimes my body reacts before my brain catches up. A hand near my wrist, someone walking too close behind me, the scrape of a heavy boot against tile, and suddenly, I’m back inside that nightmare I never asked to enter. With Xander, I don’t jolt. I don’t flinch. My nervous system recognizes him faster than my mind does. Safety. Warmth. The absence of threat.

He traces down my arm slowly, like he’s mapping constellations into my skin. His touch isn’t a demand. It’s a question.

Can I?

I realize no one has ever asked before.

Everyone else reached. Took. Claimed.

Xander waits, even when desire flickers in his eyes like a lit fuse. His restraint is a language all on its own, gentler than words, louder than promises. He could shatter every wall I have left, but instead, he holds them steady while I decide if I’m ready to let them crumble.

This is what it means to be held.

Not trapped.

Held.

And the terrifying part?

I’m starting to want it.

To want him.

To choose softness without bracing for pain.

“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

His thumb lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Thalia. Look at me.”

I do.

And there’s no judgment there. No disappointment. Only devotion, fierce and consuming.

“You don’t earn me,” he murmurs. “You match me.”

Match him.