Page 64 of Tangled Desires

A jolt wakes me, a touch on my arm that sends me straight up in bed, chest heaving like I’ve just run a marathon. My fists are locked in the sheets—tight, like I’m waiting for the next thing to hit, but it’s just Imogen. She’s standing there, all soft concern, her face pinched with worry.

“Harrison, w-what just happened?”

Shit.Did I wake her up?I rub my face, trying to get my bearings. “What time is it?”

“It’s two in the morning,” she says. Her voice is quiet but not quiet enough to hide the concern. “Are you okay? Were you… having a nightmare?”

“No, not a nightmare. Just some weird dream. Go back to bed, okay?”

I loosen my grip on the sheets, but I catch her eyes—there’s something there, something I can’t shake. She doesn’t believe me. She’s watching me too closely, like she’s trying to read me, and fuck, now I can’t stop thinking about it. She’s been up too, though. I can tell. She rubs her ribcage, like something’s bothering her.

“I can’t. I’ve been awake for hours. Your child has been moving and fluttering all night.” She winces, but doesn’t look at me.

My heart stalls for a second—your child. Her voice just says it so easily. Like it’s a given. And I swear, hearing her say it out loud hits me harder than I expected. It’s real now, isn’t it? Like we’re more than just two people sharing a space.

“Wait. You can feel it?” The words slip out before I can stop them. Of course she can. Idiot.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, her palm flat against her belly, giving me that look—like,really?

“Could I… feel?” I blurt before I can second-guess it.

She lifts her shirt, the fabric bunching just above her ribs, exposing the soft curve of her stomach. Her eyes meet mine, andwithout a word, she takes my hand, guiding it to a specific spot near her ribcage.

“Right here,” she whispers, pressing my palm firmly against her skin. The warmth beneath my hand is intimate, grounding.

“Hold on,” she murmurs, her hand over mine. “Sometimes he needs a little nudge.” She presses gently against her side, and I blink, confused.

“Doesn’t t-that—hurt him?” I’m suddenly stuttering my words.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my finger, but not your oversized dick?”

My eyes widen, and she laughs. “Kidding. Relax. It’s fine. My midwife said it’s fine to do.”

I sigh in relief, but my mind races. What about sex? Have I been too rough on her? I start replaying every recent time we’ve fucked, questioning if I was too much.

“Harrison, your penis cannot harm the baby.”

God, how does she do that? It’s like she can hear my thoughts. I snort. “Phew.” Then, suddenly—boom—a soft nudge under my palm. “Oh, shit. Did you feel that?”

Her smile is soft, no sass, just pure warmth. “Yep. The baby’s saying hi.”

“Hi, little bean,” I whisper.

She watches me, her eyes full of quiet affection. Her hand stays over mine, pressing it gently against her belly. For a moment, everything else fades—the flutter beneath my palm, the rise and fall of her chest. She shifts, sighing softly. “I should… head back to bed.”

The thought of being alone again hits me hard. I don’t want to move. “Can you—can you stay?” I ask, softer than I mean it to be. “Stay here with me, just for tonight?”

She hesitates, her eyes searching mine. Then she nods and slides into my bed. The second she’s close, everything shifts. The second she’s close, everything feels different. She fits against melike she’s meant to be there, like maybe this could work. I wrap my arm around her, not sure if it’s enough, but needing it more than I want to admit. Her skin is warm, steadying, anchoring me to something real. The quiet settles in, soft and welcoming. Her warmth pulls me under, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself sink into it.

Imogen

Be Still - The Fray

The morning light’s cutting through the blinds, dragging me out of sleep, and I’m cosy as hell—pressed up against something warm and solid. I blink, trying to focus, and realise I’m draped across Harrison’s chest. His soft snores rumble beneath me. His head’s turned away, deep in sleep, and somehow, his shirt’sgone. When did that happen?

Without overthinking, I slide my fingers over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady thump of his heart under my hand. My eyes trail down, scanning his body like I’ve never been this close. His skin is smooth, sun-kissed, covered in tattoos I’ve only ever seen from a distance. Up close, they’re even more beautiful—dark lines, bold lettering, and a whole lot ofemotional baggagewrapped in ink. My gaze snags on the words under his collarbone.

What does not kill me makes me stronger.

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