Page 83 of Hidden But Not Safe

When he lifted, her eyes locked on his. “Touch me while I’m sleeping any time. I like what it does to you.”

Watching her naked and smiling and staring at him like that made his dick semi-hard again. He turned from her, running away to the bathroom as his blood beat thickly in his veins.

Chapter 25

Naz woke up limp and cold, laughter ringing in his ears, laughter that wasn’t real but a jumbled, haunting memory.

He shouldn’t have gone to bed in just another pair of the old man’s underwear.

Meg’s body was no longer warm and pressed against him. Orgasming had knocked him out for a long, deep sleep. His jeans were no longer a mess on the bathroom floor, and his shirt was missing.

Naz dragged on the uncomfortable clothes he’d found, the shorts too tight around his dick, making his vision dim at the edges. He wasn’t hard—he couldn’t get hard with those voices—but the tightness made his heart race and the laughter louder.

Nerves tightened his neck as he left the bedroom. The need to find Meg warred with the dread of her seeing him. She’d given him an out, agreed to not touch him, and then he’d ignored all of that and had come from just touching her.

Her happiness had made him feel something he never had before—confident, or maybe just competent. There’d been satisfaction from her delight.

The expectation likely hidden beneath that delight dragged his mind back into darkness. That, and the memory of her calling what had happened between them sex.

He found Meg sitting on the couch, so similar to the day before, with the little giraffe turning in her fingers. She wore his black shirt, her legs pulled up underneath it. Her eyes were unfocused as if she was thinking about something. He hoped she was thinking about him, though he also dreaded it.

Naz’s throat closed too tightly to say her name.

Meg noticed him there anyway. Her smile bloomed in a slow spread of genuine joy. The sight caused the laughter in his head to dim, only faint echoes remaining.

Naz stared at her. Even if she wanted sex with him, how could he run away? He couldn’t lose her.

Meg’s legs uncurled, and she rose from the couch. “Good morning! I found something you can eat. Hold on, I didn’t want to make it too early. It’d get gross, all soggy and cold.”

Food had been the farthest thing from his mind, but he followed her to the kitchen anyway.

She had found oatmeal packets, cinnamon flavored. He didn’t admit he disliked cinnamon as he watched her mix it in a bowl.

“With double the water, maybe triple, it’d be easy to drink, and the box said it had protein, like your powder.” Her smile was everything. When had she begun smiling at him like that, like she was as delighted to be near him as he was to be near her?

Meg valued him, he reminded himself over whispers that told him the opposite. She’d said she didn’t want him to die.

A tendril of darkness weaved into his heart, telling him that was only because she needed him. She had nowhere else to go, no one else to trust.

Neither did he. Not unless he wanted to drag Diego and Ramiro into danger.

Meg was in danger because of him. Julio had enjoyed fucking her. Would he have really hurt her if Naz hadn’t lost control like that?

Suddenly Meg’s hands clamped over his cheeks, dragging his focus back to her. Her smile had dropped, and she glared at him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now.” She dragged his face down, making him bend. “I don’t like that look in your eyes.”

Naz blinked at her, the gray edges of his vision dispersing like mist.

She leaned forward, giving him a kiss that didn’t linger but was more a simple press of lips. No tingles shot through his body from it. A kernel of warmth unfurled in his chest instead, a warmth that the chill inside him fought against.

This was when she would pressure him about his working dick. Not that it was working at the moment, but she’d admit that she wanted him to fuck her. He wouldn’t be able to, and he’d lose her.

Meg patted his cheek before releasing him, turning toward the now steaming bowl. He’d missed whenever she’d heated it up.

She blew and stirred, like she’d done to the soup.

“Is it the food?” she asked, her voice lowering. “You don’t want me involved in this?”

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