Page 14 of Saved By Two

It would be like caging a beast if we didn’t, but he’s the only man I make love to. We’ve never had anyone else back in our home. We have a suite at a hotel, or there’s the club we would frequent.

“I know you do.”

I move to my feet and look down at Jessica; she looks so fragile and broken, and I have to swallow down my anger again.

“She’ll be okay. She’s got us to take care of her now.”

Yeah, she does, but for how long? The thought of letting her go doesn’t sit well with me. It’s a feeling I can’t even articulate.

“But for how long?”

He tilts his head as he studies my face. “I don’t know, Caleb,” he says softly. Emotion flickers in his eyes as his gaze roams back towards Jessica. “We need to help fix her first.”

And there we have it—his need to fix, my need to protect.

ChapterSeven

JESSICA

I try to kick off my covers. It’s hot—too hot. Groaning, I try to roll over onto my side, but I’m pinned.What the fuck.

Panic infuses me, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. It's like someone is playing a drum in my head.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s me, Noah.”

Noah?

“Come on, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”

This is some seriously fucked up dream if ever there was one.

But something is pulling at my subconscious. Everything starts to come back to me like a tidal wave, and I struggle to catch my breath. I blink, but I can barely see out my right eye, the other swollen shut, as I try to gather my senses.

Curtis beat me.

I ran, but I was unable to find Mason.

I came here.

“Jessica.” Noah’s voice, though firm, is distant as the wave of dizziness assails me.

His touch moves to me, shoulder squeezing.

“You had some sort of night terror,” he says, his thumb moving over my shoulder in a small circular motion. I concentrate on his touch as I will myself to calm down. “Do you not remember?”

I remember nothing past locking the door and crawling back into bed.

“No,” I reply, swallowing, my throat dry.

He shifts, causing the bed to dip, and I realise he’s in bed with me. No, I’m in bed, he’s on top of the covers. My chest squeezes tight as it wells with emotion.

“We didn’t want to risk leaving you alone if it happened again. You had a traumatic experience, so I’m not surprised.” He twists the lid off a bottle of water and cups the back of my neck for me to take a few sips; the water is cool and refreshing. I want to guzzle it down, but I’m afraid it would make me sick.

I sit up, and everything hurts: my head and ribs, everywhere. I untangle my legs and plant my feet on the floor.

“Fuck, I feel like shit,” I mumble more to myself than Noah as I push myself up. He is beside me in an instant, gripping my elbow. “I’m good. I just need to use the toilet.”

He says nothing, but gently guides me into the bathroom. I’ve never been a particularly good patient, and it would appear even now, there’s no exception.

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