Page 79 of Run to Me

A smile graces his lips but quickly falls away. “I’ve waited a long time for us.”

The sob lodged in the back of my throat cracks my voice when I whisper, “So have I.”

“We belong here, birdie. Just you and me. I promise we’re the perfect amount of everything for each other. Have faith in us. Please don’t get scared and give up before we even begin. Please,” he begs against my lips.

He sweeps his tongue against mine in a passionate, pleading caress that seeps into my bones. Tears flood my eyes, and I’m grateful he doesn’t ask me to explain my sudden emotional downturn. I can’t explain it. Instead, he gently thrusts his hips, coaxing me back into the moment.

His whispered words of encouragement flow through me, soothing my mind as his body soothes me physically. “Stay in this with me. Don’t think about anything. Just feel us. You’re so incredible, wrapped around every inch of me. Taking me. Owning me. Stay here, beautiful. Be with me. Feel how perfect we are.”

“Yes,” I breathe as I let go of my thoughts and focus on how we feel together.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth. My own lips remain parted as pleasure swims through me with every languid stroke. He slowed things down for me, giving me time to acclimate to the new bond we’re forming, and I’m ready to accept it.

“Don’t hold back,” I whisper.

Arms banded around my torso, he squeezes me to his chest, my breasts pressed between us. He pumps in earnest, each burst of his hips drawing a cry from me as we crash together.

“Yes.” I repeat my earlier agreement, a chant acknowledging how effortlessly we fit in every way. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Our breaths grow harsh and rapid before he pins me to his thighs and drops his forehead to my neck. A rumble crawls up his throat as he spills his release into me.

“Perfect,” he says, panting hard and drenched in sweat. “We’re so perfect.”

We are. Too perfect. And that’s the most terrifying truth of all, because perfection isn’t sustainable. Everyone has flaws, and I may not meet his high expectations once he has a closer look at mine. When that happens, he’ll let me go, and I’ll return to the brokenhearted self-exile I only just escaped.

For now, I wrap my arms around his head, holding him as close to me as possible. “Promise me you won’t hurt me again.”

“Never,” he vows to my thundering heart. When he lifts his head, our fearful gazes collide. “Promise me you won’t run.”

My eyes flick between his, seeing the worry building there along with every qualifying phrase he didn’t add to his request. He wants me to promise not to run before he wakes tomorrow, run from Walford, run from him and his mental struggles. I’m aware they exist. I’ve always known.

He wants me to give us a real shot despite my unease about being vulnerable, and I want the same. We’ll navigate my roadblocks if they come—when they come. And we’ll face his challenges together, like we did when we were younger.

“I won’t run,” I say, surprised that I mean it.

His whole body relaxes, and I press a kiss to his lips and lay my head on his shoulder. We stay like this for several minutes, reflecting on the monumental shift between us and the fears brought to light. With a delicate touch, I sweep the damp hair off his face, tucking the wild strands behind his ears.

I’m hoarse when I speak again. “We’re kind of a mess.”

He chuckles, understanding my double meaning, and drops kisses along my neck and shoulder. “We are. A mess I’d happily stay in forever, but let’s get cleaned up first.”

After we shower, where Jensen washes us thoroughly—and I ignore the fact that he has a shower cap on hand to keep my hair from getting wet—we crawl into bed. He leaves a light on in the bathroom, and I’m touched by all the little things he remembers about me from years ago, like my fear of the dark.

My head rests on his arm while he lazily twists one of my ringlets around his finger. “Why a hummingbird?” I ask.

“I read some cultures believe hummingbirds bring healing. In others, they symbolize love and devotion. They’re also fierce fighters, skittish and hard to catch.” He shrugs a shoulder. “In a nutshell, you.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

My aversion to snuggling seems to have disappeared as I nestle against him and breathe him in. We’re quiet, enjoying the solace we bring to each other in the simple moments. As usual, my mind wanders when left to the silence for too long.

I recall everything he said to me in the living room when he laid himself bare. Some of the things he says, the way he speaks…what if he’s not coming from a place of genuine love? I worry I’m an infatuation of his, a wrong he needs to right in order to clear his conscience. Perhaps he’s been in pursuit of me for so long, he’s confused about the reasons he wants me now.

As if he’s able to read my thoughts, he whispers, “Have faith in me. In us.”

“Okay,” I whisper back. Then we drift off to sleep, holding on to each other a little tighter.