Page 95 of Trust

My hand twitches, brushing against inked skin.

Memory crashes in. The fireplace, the belt, the kiss. A phantom tingle still lingers where my wrists were bound. Cash let me experience the complete loss of control I’d been craving without knowing it. He didn’t take it from me. I gave it to him. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Every defense I usually carry melted away, leaving me raw and breathless.

I’m lying on a mattress. I don’t remember getting into a bed, and I definitely don’t remember being carried. Again.

I trusted him so entirely I slept through all of it. Again.

That realization hits me hard. My trust runs deeper than I thought, deeper than I’m ready to admit. Because somehow, I keep waking up beside one of them and never once flinch. My body already knows the truth even if my mind lags behind.

Suddenly, I become hyper-aware of where my hand has landed. It’s on his chest, right over his heart. Bare flesh spreads beneath my palm, rising and falling with every inhale, his pulse a steady thrum beneath my skin.

I stare at my hand, oddly detached, as if waiting for it to decide what to do on its own. My fingers twitch. It’s the smallest stroke, barely enough to register the dip and rise of muscle.

I freeze.

Cash doesn’t stir. He lies there unguarded, blanket low at his hips, completely at ease. Which only makes the temptation worse.

My fingers trace the faint line between his pecs, down over the ridges of his abs.

No reaction.

So I keep going, following the groove of muscle from ribs to waist. To the edge where a dark trail of hair disappears beneath the waistband, and imagination has to do the rest.

My fingertips stop there, right above his boxers—and he moves. A big, warm hand closes firmly around mine. His voice comes low and rough, thick with sleep. “You’re treading dangerous ground, sweetheart.”

My breath stutters. “You’re awake.”

“Wasn’t,” he mumbles. “Am now.” His grip isn’t urgent, more a presence. He’d let me wander right up until the moment I grazed a boundary only he knew existed.

Dangerous ground. My face burns. I try to pull back on instinct, but he doesn’t release me right away. His thumb slides slowly over the inside of my wrist.

“I didn’t mean to...” The words barely make it past my lips.

His head tilts toward me, that familiar lazy smirk tugging one corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t you?”

A rush floods my chest, tangled between shame and thrill. I swallow, scrambling for a halfway decent defense.

“You were just... there. All bare and smug and not bothering with a shirt.”

“Sleeping, Sara. Not smug.” His chuckle rumbles low before he finally lets my wrist go. “But noted.”

I flop onto my back, staring at the ceiling, willing my face to cool. My hand tingles from his touch. From mine.

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” I insist, though I don’t even believe myself.

“I could’ve let you keep going,” he says, voice still roughened by sleep. “Believe me, I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He meets my eyes. No apology there, only deliberate restraint. “Not like that. Not yet.”

There it is again. Not yet. He can read the disappointment on my face. His grin is unmistakable. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast before I start hoping you try that again.”

I’m out of bed fast, fleeing the scene. His final words linger, edged with a challenge. If I don’t walk away now, I might embarrass myself more than I already have.

At the door, my resolve falters. I turn. One last look.