Page 72 of Oathbreaker

“Me too, Sunbeam,” I say with a rough voice. She reaches her hand out toward me but stops short of actually touching. She drops it on the sofa near mine.

“I’ve been talking with Genevieve,” she says.

“Good. That’s great. How do you feel about that?”

“I mean, I’ve been sending her emails, and I respond most times. We haven’t had an actual session, but...” She puts her hand on top of mine, and I feel the action in every nerve ending. “I’ve been getting a lot of stuff out, and I can now say that I miss you. A lot.”

She looks at me from under her eyelashes, and there’s so much vulnerability in her gaze. I flip my hand over so our palms touch.

She bites her lip, and by the flicker of her eyelids in the dim glow of the screen, I can tell she’s holding back a sob.

Just like I’m holding myself together too.

The fractured parts of my soul burst apart when she collapsed into my arms, terrified and tormented, inside that diner. I have tried to put them back together, but they’re all disjointed, like a Picasso painting.

“I’m still not ready to be one hundred percent back to where we were, but...” She brings her other hand to her mouth and starts to chew her thumbnail. When she drops her hand, resisting biting her nails, I notice her nail beds are starting to heal from the attack and her persistent picking.

“But I was hoping we could—I could—try something.” She looks at me square in my face, her back straight, stiff.

Sunbeam.

Goddamnit, I need her. I need her so fucking badly.

“Do whatever you need to do, Sunbeam,” I whisper. I will myself to stay completely still.

She moves, and her face is so close to mine that her chocolaty breath fans across my cheeks. She’s very still for several long moments, but with a trembling hand, she reaches for my face and places her palm flat on my cheek.

When she inhales, closing her eyes, I take the moment to revel in the feeling of her coming to me.

Mine.

“I want to be held, Hunter,” she whispers, her body still and her eyes closed.

I swallow and ask, “How do you want me to hold you?”

Rubbing her thumb against my stubbled jaw, she says, “I want you to hold me like you used to hold me in bed.” Her whispered confession guts me, and when I take hold of her wrist, she opens her eyes again.

“Okay, Sunbeam.”

She spreads her body down on the sofa with her back to the screen, scooting to make room for my body in front of her. I lay down, letting my muscles relax into the cushions and against the heat of her form. I slowly slide my arm beneath her head.

“What next?” I whisper close to her ear.

She shivers.

“Please put your hand around my waist,” she says. She pulls her hands in front of her chest, and their placement acts as a shield between us.

I place my palm just above the swell of her hip, and I resist rubbing my thumb over her silky skin.

She closes her eyes, so I allow her the moment to just be.

While studying her face, I stop breathing when she inches closer to me in small movements until her body presses against mine from chest to foot. I slide my hand up her back with my fingertips, teasing the curls at the base of her neck.

“Anything else?” I murmur.

When she opens her eyes, her body relaxes. She lets her head drop to my biceps. “Yes,” she says.

I hear the movie coming to a dramatic end, but I don’t give the screen my attention.

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