Page 92 of Bind Me

She leans into me, her head resting against my shoulder, and I hold her close, absorbing the warmth of her body. Her hair smells like the ocean, and I close my eyes, breathing her in.

“I’m going to start searching for Zane tomorrow,” I admit, the decision settling in my bones like a promise. “It’s late now to do anything, and after everything today, I’m going to make you dinner and give you a massage.”

She eyes me, smirking, a playful light in her gaze. “You are?”

“Of course,” I reply with a grin.

“Well, I’m not one to say no to a massage, especially a foot one. And maybe a bit of time to relax might be nice.” She leans against me, and I kiss her brow, taking in her scent once more.

“I’m worried,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m happy I’m not alone.”

I cup her cheeks, staring down at her, adoring her so much that it hurts.

“Do you realize how mental I’ll go on anyone who dares to touch you? You are my world, Sasha, my everything. Around me, you don’t need to be scared, okay?”

She smiles, a small, soft grin that lights up her eyes. She snuggles closer, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. It feels right having her here in my arms.

“Come on,” I say, pulling back slightly and taking her hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”

We head to the kitchen, and as we step inside, we find Chowder sprawled out at the table, patting his fat belly with a satisfied grin. Four empty sardine cans lie discarded in front of him, evidence of his feast.

“Looks like someone’s had a good meal,” I chuckle, reaching out to rub Chowder’s head.

“He’s always hungry,” Sasha says with a laugh, shaking her head in amusement. “You’re going to turn into a sardine one day, Chowder.”

He chirps in response, looking utterly content. His little paws rest on his belly, and I’m laughing at the sight.

“Why would I become a sardine?”

She’s laughing louder. “It’s only a saying. I’m joking.”

I chuckle as he studies her, clearly confused.

“All right, let’s see what I can whip up,” I say, moving to the counter where I’d left the mushrooms I bought just before we went to Finland. “How does mushroom and bacon carbonara sound?”

“Sounds delicious,” Sasha replies, settling at the table, pulling out a deck of cards she found in the living room, and starts playing a game with Chowder, who watches her intently.

I start preparing the meal, the sound of boiling water and sizzling pans soon filling the kitchen. Sasha’s laughter rings out as she plays with Chowder. The sound of laughter in my home is something I never thought I’d hear, something I didn’t realize I needed until now. It fills the space, turning the cold stone and steel into something warmer, something more alive.

Watching her play with Chowder, seeing the way her eyes light up with joy, makes me realize more than ever how much I want a family with her. I want this laughter, this warmth, to be a permanent fixture in my life. I want to see her happy every day, to wake up beside her, to build a life with her.

The bacon sizzles in the pan, the rich aroma of garlic and butter filling the kitchen. I move around the space with ease, adding pasta to the hot water and stirring the creamy sauce.

As I cook, I think about the future, about what it would mean to have her by my side, to build something lasting together. It’s more than a want; it’s a need, a deep, primal urge to make her mine in every way possible.

I plate the food, carrying it over to the table where she and Chowder are still engrossed in their game. She looks up as I set the plates down, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“This looks amazing,” she says, her gaze shifting from the food to me, warmth and gratitude in her eyes.

“And mine?” Chowder pipes up.

“Definitely,” I say and bring his small plate of chopped up bacon. “Because you haven’t eaten enough already.”

His eyes are only for his serving.

We dig in, and for a while, everything else fades away. It’s just us, sharing a meal, sharing a moment, and it feels perfect.

“This is heaven,” she murmurs, her voice dreamy.

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