Page 28 of His Passerotta

“You act like you do. And if I remember correctly, you admitted to having a little crush on me. So this must be a dream come true.”

Fuck you.

I don’t say the words out loud. I’m a little too scared, a little too focused on deciding whether he’s just teasing me or taking my earlier words as consent. Or if he’s even thinking of sex.

When I don’t move, his smile falls with a sigh. “Bailey…”

“Are you like Finn?”

He tilts his head like he’s confused. “What?”

“Are you…” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “Are you planning to…”

I don’t need to finish. I see it on his face the moment understanding registers.

“Oh… No, I’m not like Finn.”

I study him for a moment, and if he’s acting, he’s good because all I see is sincerity. And a little bit of pity.

Would he have felt bad if he’d let the pervert take me? Would he have even cared?

Obviously, since I’m here… I hope.

He doesn’t prod me again, but he isn’t going to stand down. It wouldn’t make sense for him to. I have more reason to trust him than he does me.

My shoulders slump with defeat when I shuffle to the nightstand to pull out the pair of cuffs, trying not to think about why he keeps them right beside his bed. I climb into bed next to him and hold my breath while he lifts my wrists to the headboard. He raises up so the blanket slips to his waist and I’m left with an incredible view of his chest and abs. He’s … a lot sexier than I even imagined. The home gym makes sense.

He must catch me looking because when my wrists are cuffed to the headboard, he smirks, standing from the bed.

“You know, for someone who’s afraid of sex, you’re being awfully receptive.”

It’s only now that I realize my breathing has turned ragged. I force in slow and steady breaths and stare up at the ceiling, willing his eyes off of me.

“I’m not afraid of sex. I’m afraid of rape.”

“Hmmm,” he replies as if that’s something to contemplate. “I guess you got lucky then.”

He shuts the light off, bathing us in darkness, before coming back to bed. He pulls the blanket up past my chest, but it isn’t necessary. It’s impossibly hot with him next to me. His scent is everywhere, making a home inside my nostrils, and I might enjoy it if his words weren’t stuck in my mind.

Several minutes go by, maybe even longer while I stare at the dark ceiling. I’m not sure if he’s asleep or not when I speak.

“It wasn’t luck.”

He shifts beside me, and I don’t look, but I’m pretty sure he rolled to face me.

“You saved me,” I say, my voice soft and low, like I’m afraid to admit it in case it isn’t true.

The back of his fingers brush my shoulder and trail down my arm in a caress that has my eyes closing. He follows his trail a few more times before pulling his hand away. The act says more than his words could’ve.

I’m safe. Right here, in his bed, I’m safe.

“Go to sleep, passerotta.”

I don’t know what the word means, but this time it doesn’t feel like an insult. It has my eyes closing and my body relaxing into the mattress.

When I fall asleep, I don’t escape the man beside me. He follows me into my dreams.

6

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