“And while I can absolutely get back on my feet all on my own, it’s nice knowing I don’t have to. It’s nice knowing I don’t have to do it alone.” She paused and took a careful breath. “It’s nice,” she whispered shakily, but her gaze on his was steady, “knowing I’m not alone.”

He was so fucking proud of the woman she’d become. Not only was she smart and strong and resilient, but she was brave.

A hell of a lot braver than him.

She humbled him and awed him and inspired him to try and be braver, too.

Brave enough to give her yet another truth. “You’re not alone. Not now. Not in this.”

But not brave enough to tell her more.

That she never had to be alone again.

Not nearly brave enough to ask her to promise him the same thing.

Taking a hold of her hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze. “Stand up.”

His words this time were still demanding, but his tone was softer.

Her obedience was just as immediate, but more graceful thanks to him steadying her as she got to her feet.

But the thrill of her quick compliance, of the way she didn’t hesitate to do as he told her was just as powerful.

And had his flagging cock surging to life once again.

Especially when she edged forward until his dick was cradled against the softness of her belly, and lifted her hand to his face, the scent of her pussy clinging to her fingers as she cupped his cheek.

“No one gets through life fully intact,” she told him. “We all have pieces that are broken. And while no one else can heal those broken pieces for us, we can bring them out into the light. We can share them with others.”

His mouth dried. His cock deflated.

He knew what she wanted from him.

His complete and absolute surrender. For him to let the last remnants of his control go and do all the things he wanted to do to her.

For him to admit his feelings for her.

“I can’t,” he blurted, his voice husky with regret. “It’s too much. In here.” He tapped his fist twice against his burning chest. “I want to, but I can’t.”

“You can.” Her voice was quiet, her tone firm, but not unkind. “You can because I can take it. Whatever the truth. Whatever parts of yourself you want to share with me, no matter how ugly you think they are.” She searched his eyes, as if begging him to believe her. To trust her. “I promise, I can take it. And so can you.”

He took a step back, but she just took one forward. He took another. Then another. But she kept pace. Kept her hand on his cheek.

Not letting him walk away.

Not letting him hide.

“Tell me something true, Miles,” she continued, relentless in her quest to rip him apart. To tear him open so she could see all the parts of him that he needed to keep hidden. That made him feel weak and stupid and defenseless.

All the parts he hated.

That he feared.

“Let me see you,” she begged softly. “For once, let me see all of you.”

He was shaking. Pressure grew in his chest. His breaths came quick and shallow. But this wasn’t the beginning of another anxiety attack.

This was the beginning of his unraveling.